THE  SCREEN 


PAUL      SOURGET 


THE  SCREEN 


The  Screen 


PAUL    BOURGET 


NEW       YORK 

J.  F.  TAYLOR  &  COMPANY 

1    9    O    1 


Copyright,  1901, 

by 
J.  F.  Taylor  &  Company. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER.  PAGE. 

I.  The  Reverse  of  a  Modern  Legend. .      9 

II.    A  Dangerous  Game 27 

III.  In  Love  Without  Knowing  It 45 

IV.  From  baturday  to  Monday 73 

V.    Two  Friends 97 

VI.    The  Unexpected 119 

VII.  Is  it  the  End?..                              .  149 


2083052 


I 

The  Reverse  of  a  Modern  Legend 


THE  SCREEN. 

CHAPTER  L 
The  Reverse  of  a  Modern  Legend. 

In  the  month  of  June  of  last  year, 
two  of  the  most  fashionable  families 
of  the  young  Faubourg  Saint-Ger- 
main, those  of  Antoine  de  Lautrec 
and  Guy  de  Sarlieve,  quitted  Paris 
the  day  after  the  Grand  Prix,  to 
spend  some  weeks  in  England  and 
take  part  in  the  close  of  the  London 
season,  before  going,  the  first  to 
Carlsbad,  and  the  second  to  its  es- 
tate in  Picardie.  Simultaneously 
with  the  departure  of  the  families  in 
question  for  London,  a  young  man 
known  to  be  in  love  with  one  of  the 
ladies  also  started  for  England.  It 
may  be  added  that  this  passion  was 
openly  acknowledged  by  Vicomte 

9 


THE    SCREEN. 

Bertrand  d'Aydie  for  the  beautiful 
Marquise  Alyette  de  Lautrec,  whose 
reputation  had  never  been  tarnished 
by  slanders  of  scandal-mongers.  She 
was  on  this  account  particularly  dis- 
tinguished in  the  world  of  the  Fau- 
bourg. Mme.  de  Lautrec  had  en- 
joyed for  some  years  among  her 
friends  the  renown  of  being  sincere 
in  her  piety,  which  in  its  character 
was  almost  devotional.  The  purity, 
the  severity  of  her  conscience  was  so 
evident  and  so  clear  to  the  compan- 
ions of  her  youth  that  not  even  the 
least  suspicion  existed  respecting 
the  attentions  of  D'Aydie,  and  the 
most  dangerous  and  guilty  indiscre- 
tion on  his  part  would  have  been 
found  by  them  as  compromising  only 
to  himself.  Moreover,  had  the  fre- 
quenters of  the  drawing-rooms  and 
clubs  commented  upon  the  departure 
of  Bertrand  in  the  train  of  the  Mar- 
quise they  would  have  simply 
deemed  him  misled,  and  their  im- 
pressions would  have  reflected  upon 
him  alone. 

10 


THE    SCREEN. 

"Still  another  of  Bertrand's 
schemes.  He  never  fails  to  have 
some  folly  on  hand,"  said  Cruce', 
who  had  the  worst  tongue  in  Rue 
Royale,  as  he  pointed  out  the  para- 
graph in  the  journal  in  which  the 
name  of  Mme.  de  Lautrec  figured  in 
an  announcement  headed,  "Change 
of  Residence  and  Villeggiatura." 
Before  it  were  the  tell-tale  words: 
"To  London." 

"To  London,"  repeated  Cruce'. 
"He  is  going  to  weary  poor  Alyette, 
who  could  not  endure  his  attentions 
in  Paris.  Had  you  but  heard  her 
when  I  spoke  of  him  to  her  a  few 
days  ago.  The  tone  of  utter  indif- 
ference in  which  she  said,  'Oh,  no, 
I  assure  you,  I  am  not  annoyed  by 
him.'  Men  should  have  more  dignity 
than  to  thrust  their  attentions  where 
they  are  not  wanted." 

"Well,  what  would  you  do?"  asked 
a  young  provincial  noble,  who  enter- 
tained unlimited  faith  in  the  opin- 
ions of  Parisians  in  general  and  of 

Cruce'  in  particular  as  a  man  of  the 
11 


THE    SCREEN. 

world;  a  professional  parasite  of 
whom  Casal  had  said,  comically, 
"He  passes  for  a  connoisseur  of  ci- 
gars on  the  strength  of  having  ac- 
cepted them." 

"Well,  I  would  love  elsewhere," 
replied  Cruce'.  "It  happens,  nine 
times  out  of  ten,  that  such  a  move 
gives  us  into  the  bargain  those  who 
have  disdained  us.  This  would  not 
be  the  case  with  Alyette,"  he  added, 
quickly.  "I  have  known  her  since 
she  was  no  higher  than  that;  she  is 
a  saint." 

"Poor  Alyette,"  said,  at  the  same 
hour,  Madame  de  Corcieux,  who  felt 
sorry  for  Mme.  de  Lautrec,  as  she 
showed  her  husband  the  same  an- 
nouncement in  the  newspaper.  "The 
young  booby  has  followed  her  to 
England  and  will  never  rest  con- 
tented until  he  causes  her  to  be 
talked  about.  Happily,  she  is  one 
of  those  women  before  whom  calum- 
ny is  disarmed." 

"It  makes  no  difference,"  replied 

the  worthy  De  Corcieux,  famous  for 
12 


THE    SCREEN. 

thirty  years  of  blind  conjugal  con- 
fidence. "Still  in  Lautrec's  place,  I 
would  ask  him  to  be  more  discreet. 
It  would  be  rendering  him  a  great 
service.  Bertrand'is  a  fine  fellow, 
but  he  makes  a  fool  of  himself  run- 
ning about  Europe  after  his  idol's 
trunks." 

If  he  braved  the  world  at  large 
by  making  an  exhibition  of  hypnotic, 
platonic  adoration,  which  appeared 
to  society  ridiculous ;  if  he  consented 
to  play  a  part  which  led  the  wonder- 
ing to  regard  him  as  too  much  in 
love,  to  "hide  his  passion,"  as  is 
said  in  tragedies,  it  was  because 
there  was  an  underlying  motive  and 
reason  for  his  conduct.  But  for  the 
secret  motives  of  our  visible  conduct 
who  in  all  Paris  is  sufficiently  in- 
terested to  try  to  seek?  In  no  other 
place  do  they  accept  more  quickly 
a  person  for  what  he  represents  him- 
self than  in  Paris,  particularly  when 
it  is  a  matter  of  the  sentimental 
order.  All  the  ladies  of  the  De  Cor- 
cieux  family  and  the  Cruce's  who 

13 


THE    SCREEN. 

jested  gaily,  or  cruelly,  on  the  sub- 
ject of  the  hopeless  passion  of  Bert- 
rand  d'Aydie,  would  have  been  sur- 
prised to  the  extent  of  stupor,  even 
indignation,  if,  some  days  after  the 
announcement  of  the  departure  of 
the  young  man  for  London,  the  same 
day  and  on  the  same  train  with  the 
Marquise  Alyette,  they  could  have 
magically  transported  themselves  to 
London,  and  on  a  bright  day,  at  half- 
past  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning, 
have  wended  their  way  to  Kensing- 
ton Park.  They  would  there  have 
seen,  to  the  great  humiliation  of 
their  malice,  the  great  "booby"  ad- 
vancing, smiling  and  delighted,  to- 
ward a  woman  who  evidently  await- 
ed him,  and  toward  whom  the  young 
man  hastened  with  the  step  of  a 
happy  lover  who  eagerly  approaches 
his  beloved  one.  It  was  not  the  pure 
and  serious  Mme.  de  Lautrec  who 
smiled  a  welcome.  It  was  her  inti- 
mate friend,  the  gay,  reckless  Emme- 
line  de  Sarlieve,  whose  frank  and 
childlike  laughter,  whose  good  fel- 

14 


TEE    SCREEN. 

lowship,  and,  above  all,  whose  inti- 
macy with  the  irreproachable  Al- 
yette,  protected  her  from  suspicion 
and  slander.  This  proves,  in  paren- 
thesis, that  in  love  classic  deceptions 
are  always  the  best,  and  that  a  pro- 
nounced admiration  for  a  pretty 
woman  is  an  infallible  way  of  mak- 
ing an  impenetrable  mystery  of  an 
intimacy  with  another.  A  humorist 
has  brightly  dubbed  such  uncon- 
scious accomplices  of  marital  disloy- 
alty "screen-women." 

With  her  soft  blue  orbs,  her  com- 
plexion of  the  rich  tint  of  the  tea 
rose,  her  regular  features,  the  mouth 
disclosing  pearl-like  teeth,  her  wavy 
golden  hair  and  slight,  graceful  fig- 
ure, the  sovereign  distinction  of  her 
bearing,  the  innate  art  of  her  toilet, 
her  amiability,  keen  intelligence,  her 
great  name,  her  beautiful  soul,  all  of 
which  combined  to  render  her 
worthy  of  being  loved  for  herself, 
the  exquisite  Mme.  de  Lautrec  served 
simply  as  a  screen  for  her  best  friend 
and  the  lover  of  this  friend. 

15 


THE   SCREEN. 

It  is  a  sad  truth  to  announce,  but 
it  is  an  experience  as  common  as  it 
is  vulgar,  that  happy  love  soon  loses 
the  sense  of  right  and  delicacy  when 
it  is  a  question  of  satisfying  its  hap- 
piness. On  this  beautiful  morning 
at  the  beginning  of  an  English  sum- 
mer, neither  the  romantic  Emmeline 
de  Sarlieve,  nor  the  sentimental 
D'Aydie,  appeared  to  experience  the 
least  scruple  respecting  the  double 
lie  on  which  their  liaison  rested,  de- 
ception toward  the  husband,  decep- 
tion toward  their  intimate  friend. 
They  walked  now  side  by  side,  the 
delicious  scenery  of  the  park  spread 
around  them  immense  green  sward, 
where  sheep  grazed  as  though  in  the 
open  country,  and  where  idlers,  ex- 
tended upon  the  grass,  slept  beneath 
the  caress  of  the  soft  sunlight.  This 
profound  peace  was  almost  rustic, 
and  yet  this  delightful  retreat  was 
only  a  few  steps  from  Piccadilly. 
The  joy  of  a  t&te-a-tete  on  the  morn- 
ing after  an  evening  reception  at  the 
residence  of  one  of  the  most  prudish 

16 


THE    SCREEN. 

duchesses  of  Belgrave  Square  and  on 
the  eve  of  a  delightful  garden  party 
with  another,  equally  prudish,  added 
zest  to  their  interview  and  silenced 
all  reproach  of  conscience.  Never 
had  the  caressing  countenance  of  her 
friend  appeared  more  attractive  to 
Emmeline ;  never  had  she  herself  ap- 
peared more  lovely  and  seductive; 
with  every  smile  her  dazzlingly  white 
teeth  gleamed  through  her  parted 
lips,  and  her  dark,  lustrous  eyes 
shone  with  a  bright  light.  In  her 
light  mauve  gown,  under  an  um- 
brella of  changeable  silk,  with  her 
small,  slender  hands  finely  gloved, 
she  invited  admiration.  Coquettish, 
but  useless,  jewels  hung  upon  a  chain 
from  her  neck,  and  a  gold  band  cir- 
cled her  waist.  She  presented  truly 
a  delicious  figure,  suggestive  of  Wat- 
teau.  So  exquisite  was  the  charm 
of  Mme.  de  Sarlieve  that  any  one 
would  have  granted  the  young  man 
absolution,  as  he  said: 

"Dear,     dear     Emmeline.      How 
happy  I  am  to-day  that  you  did  not 

2  17 


THE   SCREEN. 

listen  to  my  objections  when  you 
spoke  of  taking  this  journey  to  Lon- 
don. Until  now  I  never  understood 
those  lovers  who  have  the  fancy  to 
carry  on  their  love  affairs  far  from 
their  own  country.  How  well  I  un- 
derstand them  now.  How  well  I 
appreciate  the  charm  of  being  able 
to  adore  you  in  this  new  frame.  How 
delightful  is  the  joy,  the  happiness 
of  living  here  in  the  midst  of  this 
great  city  where  I  am  known  to  few, 
and  where  I  can  enjoy  being  with 
you  unobserved." 

"Oh  foolish  boy!"  interrupted  Em- 
meline,  with  the  touching  irony 
women  assume  to  repress  extrava- 
gance. She  knew  instinctively  that 
the  truest  emotions  are  those  that 
are  the  most  mute.  A  man  who  re- 
peats too  often  that  he  is  happy 
would  be  silent,  if  indeed  as  happy 
as  he  asserts. 

"I  am  more  prosaic,"  she  con- 
tinued. "It  is  the  security  of  being 
among  strangers  which  to  me  seems 
so  delightful.  While  in  Paris  I 

18 


THE   SCREEN. 

never  dared  to  walk  with  you  in  the 
Bois,  and  I  so  often  desired  to  do 
so.  Yes,  this  expedition  is  perfectly 
delicious.  It  would  seem  to  be  al- 
most too  great  happiness,  and  I  feel 
as  though  something  will  happen." 

"Something,"  repeated  the  young 
man,  laughing  a  laugh  of  rash  con- 
fidence. "But  what,  pray?" 

"How  do  I  know?"  she  replied. 
"What  if  Guy  should  become  jealous, 
for  instance?" 

"He  jealous?  What  an  idea.  Yes- 
terday, after  dinner  at  Lady  Hels- 
ton's,  when  we  remained  at  table  to 
drink,  after  the  ladies  had  gone  from 
the  room,  according  to  the  queer  cus- 
tom of  this  country,  he  came  and 
seated  himself  beside  me.  Lord 
Helston's  champagne  and  port  wine 
must  certainly  have  had  an  effect 
upon  him,  for  he  was  very  expansive. 
He  settled  himself  down  to  talk  with 
me  about  Mme.  de  Lautrec,  and  in  a 
tone  of  voice  that  clearly  solicited 
my  sentiments  and  opinions  upon 
the  subject.  Sometimes,"  Bertrand 

19 


THE    SCREEN. 

continued,  thoughtfully,  "I  would 
almost  prefer  him  to  be  jealous ;  but, 
above  all,  I  wish  he  would  converse 
less  about  Marquise  Alyette." 

"But,  why?"  asked  Mme.  de  Sar- 
lieve,  seriously,  ceasing  to  smile.  Her 
seriousness  was  momentary,  and 
again  her  soft  brown  eyes  gleamed 
with  gaiety  and  coquetry,  as  she  con- 
tinued, "At  least,  you  certainly  do 
not  fear  to  fall  in  love?  But  why 
not?  It  is  just  what  might  happen. 
I  have  said  to  myself  that  I  am  very 
imprudent  to  place  such  trust  in 
you.  Alyette  is  one  of  the  most 
charming  of  women,  and  men  who 
are  regarded  as  the  most  honorable 
are  the  least  so  when  it  is  a  question 
of  love." 

The  pretty  Countess  said  this  seri- 
ously, and  with  reason,  for  she  had 
been  the  first  to  suggest  the  Ma- 
chiavelian  idea  of  having  a  screen- 
friend. 

Bertrand  listened  seriously,  and, 
if,  by  shaking  his  head,  he  sought  to 
deny  the  assertion,  he  could  but  re- 

20 


THE    SCREEN. 

fleet  upon  the  words  of  his  compan- 
ion. He  nevertheless  dared  proclaim 
his  honor  in  love — he,  the  docile  ex- 
ecutor of  this  dishonest  imposture. 

"That  which  reassures  me,"  con- 
tinued Mme.  de  Sarlieve,  without 
heeding  D'Aydie,  "is  that  Alyette  is 
a  veritable  saint." 

"You  see,"  interrupted  the  young 
man,  to  whom  this  conversation  was 
doubtless  far  from  agreeable,  "I  am 
getting  tired  of  hearing  her  eulogy. 
Do  you  know  what  might  happen? 
Why,  that  it  will  become  impossible 
for  me  to  continue  this  innocent 
comedy  of  the  hopeless  lover,  to 
whom  every  one  comes  to  sing  the 
virtues  of  his  beloved.  What  sort 
of  an  occupation  must  that  be  when 
it  is  really  followed  without  com- 
pensation?" 

"But,  we  have  compensation,"  re- 
plied Emmeline,  coquettishly,  either 
reassured  by  the  bantering  tone  of 
her  friend  or  because  she  judged  as 
impolitic  this  allusion  to  the  possi- 
bilities which  had  for  some  time 
Zl 


THE    SCREEN. 

i 

troubled  her  thoughts  too  frequent- 
ly. Then,  with  a  shade  of  sadness 
in  her  voice  and  manner,  which  be- 
trayed her  instinctive  jealousy,  and 
as  though  she  desired  to  assert  that 
she  belonged  to  herself,  she  con- 
tinued, reservedly: 

"Have  you  received  the  invitation 
to  go  with  us  to  visit  Lady  Semley, 
to  remain  at  her  country-seat  from 
Saturday  until  Monday?  She  asked 
me  for  your  address,  last  evening, 
to  send  the  invitation." 

"I  have  received  and  accepted  it," 
he  replied. 

"I  have  news  to  announce,"  she 
continued.  "Guy  will  not  be  of  the 
party.  He  has  accepted  an  invita- 
tion to  breakfast  on  Sunday  with,  I 
know  not  whom,  and,  afterward,  to 
go  and  look  at  some  horses.  That  is 
why  I  had  you  invited." 

A  moment  of  silence  followed  be- 
tween them.  They  exchanged  glances 
and  smiles  in  which  burned  the  light 
of  the  hope  of  a  rendezvous;  but  as 
their  glances  met  their  eyes  were 
22 


THE    SCREEN. 

lowered,  as  though,  notwithstanding 
the  feeling  of  joy,  they  experienced 
a  sense  of  shame  at  the  thought  of 
the  deceptions  to  which  they  had 
yielded  to  purchase  their  happiness. 

Their  happiness?  Yes,  everything 
indicated  that  they  were  happy.  Had 
they  not,  at  this  very  moment,  sur- 
rounded their  love  with  ideal  con- 
ditions peculiar  to  the  poetry  of  for- 
bidden adventure  and  stolen  love? 
The  ease  accorded  by  wealth,  the 
charm  of  refinement,  youth,  beauty, 
and  mystery,  all  were  theirs,  and 
they  were  far  from  Paris  and  its 
customs.  Yes,  they  ought  to  be 
happy.  Whatever  remorse  they  se- 
cretly felt  at  the  deception  they  were 
practising  upon  their  friends,  was 
stifled  and  remained  unspoken  be- 
tween them.  Bertrand  satisfied  his 
conscience  by  looking  with  delight 
at  the  beauty  of  his  friend,  and  he 
repeated,  while  gazing  at  her  pas- 
sionately : 

"What  a  lovely  morning!  How 
happy  I  am,  and  how  I  love  you!" 

2L 


II 

A  Dangerous  Game 


25 


CHAPTER  II. 
A  Dangerous  Game. 

Was  the  young  man  sincere  in  his 
protestations?  Had  he  been  ques- 
tioned, he  would  certainly  have  an- 
swered "Yes,"  and  any  one  who  had 
seen  him  follow  this  pretty  woman 
with  his  eyes,  when  they  were  about 
to  separate,  would  have  thought  the 
same.  It  was  at  the  Queen's  Gate, 
a  little  before  one  o'clock,  that  Ern- 
meline  consulted  the  tiny  watch 
pinned  to  her  waist,  a  paradoxical 
jewel  which  informed  D'Aydie  that 
she  was  "decorated  with  the  order 
of  pas (t) time,"  and  she  exclaimed: 

"And  I  am  to  breakfast  at  the 
other  side  of  Hanover  Square!" 

"Don't  worry,"  he  replied,  laugh- 
ing ;  "there  is  no  possibility  of  arriv- 
ing late  at  an  English  luncheon." 

He  hailed  a  hansom  and  assisted 
his  companion  to  enter  it.  His  eyes 
27 


THE   SCREEN. 

followed  her  regretfully,  while  she 
watched  him  through  the  little  glass 
window  of  the  cab,  exchanging  a 
mute  adieu.  Would  he  have  experi- 
enced this  feeling  of  sadness  at  their 
separation  had  he  not  loved  her  with 
passionate  fervor?  He  took  another 
cab  and  gave  the  coachman  his  ad- 
dress in  Dover  Street,  which  was 
not  far  from  the  hotel  in  Berkeley 
Square,  where  Alyette  and  Emme- 
line  were  staying.  As  he  drove  along 
his  thoughts  wandered  to  the  woman 
whom  he  had  just  left.  Twenty  im- 
ages of  her  floated  before  his  mem- 
ory, all  charming  and  smiling.  He 
seemed  again  to  see  her  as  when  first 
they  met  on  the  day  on  which  he 
had  been  introduced  into  the  world 
of  Paris.  How  she  had  delighted 
him  even  from  that  first  day.  He 
recalled  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit 
and  the  beginning  of  his  love-mak- 
ing, and,  it  must  be  acknowledged, 
the  ease  with  which  she  tied  the  knot 
of  their  liaison.  After  two  years  he 
was,  if  possible,  more  deeply  in  love 

28 


THE    SCREEN. 

than  on  the  first  day.  At  least  he 
thought  so,  and  said  to  himself : 

"Here  I  am  in  London  because 
Emmeline  came.  I,  who  detest  trav- 
eling, and  who  have  sworn  again  and 
again  to  remain  always  free.  I  had 
vowed  never  to  form  any  tie  in  the 
world,  and  yet  I  am  in  love  with  a 
woman  who  is  married,  which  means 
that  the  links  of  the  chain  are 
doubled.  I  left  Paris  for  a  caprice; 
en  route  the  caprice  became  a  pas- 
sion. But  she  is  beautiful,  brilliant 
and  amusing,  and  yet  I  have  cared 
heretofore  only  for  dreamers." 

As  he  said  this  another  phantom 
arose  before  him,  a  phantom  whose 
eyes  were  not  brown,  whose  curls 
were  not  chestnut,  and  whose  smile 
possessed  no  dimples  like  those  of 
Emmeline.  Now  Bertrand  saw  no 
longer  her  whom  he  loved,  or  thought 
he  loved,  but  the  one  he  had  feigned 
to  love,  and  was  very  sure  of  never 
loving,  Alyette  de  Lautrec,  the 
screen-friend. 

Bertrand  d'Aydie,  at  the  age  of 

29 


THE    SCREEN. 

twenty-five,  was  truly  young.  Not 
in  the  literal  acceptation  of  the  term, 
because  vice  had  already  touched 
him  and  he  was  like  a  handsome 
fruit  stung  by  a  worm,  but  he  re- 
tained a  freshness  of  impressions 
which  rendered  him  in  a  sense  an 
innocent  rou£.  Such  are  to  be  met 
with  always  in  society,  where,  in  de- 
fault of  other  interests,  pleasure  be- 
comes the  principal  aim  of  life. 
Bertrand  belonged  by  nature  to  the 
noble  race  of  the  lovers  of  love,  to 
those  for  whom  the  feminine  uni- 
verse is  the  supreme  attraction,  and 
soon,  if  no  action  corrects  the  first 
fancy,  becomes  the  only  one.  These 
lovers  of  love  are  not  lovers  only. 
They  are  artists  in  emotion,  always 
in  quest  of  a  still  more  subtle  sensa- 
tion, a  joy  more  intense,  a  grief  more 
bitter,  and  are  unable  to  remain 
faithful  to  a  monotonous  fidelity,  a 
tender  constancy.  These  seekers  of 
sensations  are  ingenious,  instinct- 
ively changeable  and  perfidious,  and 
they  are  still  more  dangerous  because 

30 


THE    SCREEN. 

they  preserve,  even  through  sad  ex- 
periences, simplicity  and  perfect 
faith  in  the  ideal.  In  their  youth 
such  men  are  particularly  formid- 
able to  a  woman  credulous,  passion- 
ate and  secretive,  as  was  Alyette  de 
Lautrec. 

"Yes,  if  the  portraits  of  both  Em- 
meline  and  Alyette  had  been  shown 
me  before  knowing  them,"  continued 
Bertrand,  "I  would  have  made  a  bet 
that  I  would  fall  in  love  with  Al- 
yette. Emmeline  realizes  this  at 
moments.  She  is  capable  of  going 
to  Alyette  and  telling  her  all  our 
story,  and  should  she  do  so,  what 
would  be  Alyette's  opinion  of  me? 
How  could  I  make  her  understand 
that,  if  I  choose  to  play  before  her 
the  role  of  one  who  sighs,  it  is  be- 
cause I  know  her  to  be  irreproach- 
able and  so  entirely  insensible? — 
Insensible!" 

He  surprised  himself  by  repeating 

the  word  aloud,  "Insensible?"  These 

syllables   evidently  aroused  within 

him  a  lively  curiosity,  for  he  imme- 

31 


THE    SCREEN. 

diately  ordered  the  cabman  to  drive 
to  the  hotel  in  Berkeley  Square, 
where  he  was  sure  at  this  hour  to 
meet  only  the  Marquise. 

Bertrand  d'Aydie  experienced, 
when  ascending  the  stairs  leading  to 
the  apartment  occupied  by  Mme.  de 
Lautrec,a  sudden  impulse  of  joy,  and 
this  joy  would  certainly  not  have 
been  such  as  it  was  had  he  not  had 
still  in  his  memory  the  sound  of  the 
voice  of  another,  of  the  woman  for 
the  worldly  peace  of  whom  he  feigned 
to  love  Alyette.  Some  physiogno- 
mists pretend  that  the  right  lobe 
and  the  left  lobe  of  our  brains  con- 
stitute each  in  themselves  a  com- 
plete brain.  A  dissociation,  however 
slight,  between  the  two  brains  pro- 
duce the  strangest  discords  in  our 
personality.  We  desire  this;  it  is 
our  right  brain  that  wills.  We  de- 
sire almost  instantly  the  contrary; 
it  is  the  left  brain  that  negatives. 
The  real  lover  of  tht  worldly  Emme- 
line,  the  pretended  love,  of  the  pious 
Alyette  did  not  assuredly  suspect 

32 


TEE    SCREEN. 

this  convenient  and  fantastic  theory 
He  acted  so  ingenuously,  so  criminal- 
ly, if  you  will,  that  his  heart  beat 
slightly  when  the  footman  of  the 
Marquise  introduced  him  into  her 
little  boudoir,  where  everything  in 
the  surroundings  bespoke  the  refine- 
ment of  the  traveler,  who  inter- 
rupted her  writing  to  receive  Bert- 
rand. 

She  was  seated  at  a  desk  drawn  be- 
side the  window  that  looked  out 
upon  the  foliage  of  the  great  trees  of 
Berkeley  Square,  the  handsomest  in 
London,  which  shed  their  grateful 
shade  around  this  sombre  hotel,  fur- 
nished in  the  style  of  ten  years  past. 

She  wore  a  dark  blue  gown,  the 
hue  of  which  accentuated  still  more 
the  fairness  of  her  skin,  that  re- 
sembled the  petals  of  the  lily.  This 
lily  was  a  young  and  very  beautiful 
woman,  whose  taste  in  the  matter  of 
toilet  mingled  simplicity  and  co- 
quetry. 

One  more  of  a  coxcomb  than  Bert- 
rand  would  have  discerned  that  this 

3  33 


THE    SCREEN. 

lily  was  also  a  woman  vaguely 
troubled  by  the  visit  she  now  re- 
ceived. Her  slender  fingers  trembled 
nervously  in  her  effort  to  replace  the 
pen,  her  voice  shook  somewhat  in 
her  reply  to  his  first  question,  al- 
though it  was  but  an  idle  remark  of 
the  young  man  on  her  fatigue  conse- 
quent upon  the  ball  of  the  preceding 
night. 

The  young  man  had  not  been  there 
long  before  the  Marquise  introduced 
the  ordinary  topics  of  their  daily 
conversation.  The  role  adopted  by 
D'Aydie,  that  of  a  timid  lover,  one 
who  never  declares  himself,  did  not 
lend  to  animated  conversation,  nor 
did  he  desire  that  it  should. 

That  which  charmed  Bertrand 
most  in  Alyette  was  her  dreamy,  ro- 
mantic nature,  and  her  absolute 
avoidance  of  any  seeming  recogni- 
tion of  his  assiduities ;  it  was,  if  one 
may  so  say,  her  "distant  presence," 
her  strictly  circumspect  movements, 
the  calm  sound  of  her  voice,  her  meas- 
ured sentences  and  carefully  weighed 

34 


THE    SCREEN. 

words  in  which  he  found  such 
exquisite  delicacy,  reserve,  and  mod- 
esty as  charming  as  the  most  subtle 
perfume.  What  she  thought  of  him, 
to  what  degree  she  was  flattered  by 
his  admiration,  why  she  accepted 
this  discreet  and  guarded  admir- 
ation, which  was,  in  fact,  a  sort  of 
avowal  of  love,  he  knew  not,  nor  did 
he  seek  to  know.  A  very  distant 
cousinship  with  De  Lautrec  justified 
his  intimacy  in  the  family,  and  the 
t£te-a-tete  with  Alyette  in  no  degree 
recalled  the  conversation  enjoyed 
with  Emmeline  beneath  the  trees  of 
the  park.  Was  it  the  contrast  that 
allured,  or  did  D'Aydie  appreciate 
in  truth,  the  woman  before  him? 

These  brief  moments  alone  with 
her  seemed  always  too  fleeting,  for 
the  door  of  the  Marquise  was  never 
closed  to  callers,  and  it  was  rare,  in 
Paris,  that  visitors  did  not  come  to 
interrupt  the  charm  of  their  t£te-a- 
t6te.  Would  it  be  the  same  in  Lon- 
don? He  hoped  not.  Nevertheless, 
even  in  the  hours  of  greatest  inti- 

35 


TEE    SCREEN. 

macy  Alyette's  reserve  remained  in- 
tact, and  she  gave  utterance,  to  no 
single  word  that  could  not  have  been 
spoken  before  the  whole  world.  On 
this  particular  day,  the  words  that 
fell  from  her  beautiful  lips  expressed 
her  impressions  of  London,  but  there 
was  in  her  bearing  a  subtle  some- 
thing which  seemed  to  suggest  an  un- 
derlying and  unspoken  sentiment.  It 
seemed,  however,  that  their  interview 
was  on  this  day  to  terminate,  as  on 
all  other  days,  without  a  single  word 
being  spoken  that  would  become 
memorable. 

"That  which  surprises  me  most 
and  which  makes  me  almost  ashamed 
of  our  customs,  is  to  see  how  very 
hospitable  the  English  are,"  said 
Alyette.  "For  instance,  when  you 
entered,  I  was  replying  to  Lady  Sem- 
ley.  She  knows  that  M.  de  Lautrec 
and  I  admire  the  Murillos  of  Straf- 
ford  House,  and,  as  she  possesses 
some  magnificent  pictures  and  other 
works  of  art  in  her  country  house, 
she  has  invited  us  to  visit  her  from 

36 


THE    SCREEN. 

Saturday  until  Monday  in  company 
with  Emnieline  and  her  husband." 

"The  invitation  has  also  been  ex- 
tended your  humble  servant,"  re- 
plied Bertrand. 

A  brief  silence  followed,  which,  for 
a  time,  neither  seemed  willing  to  in- 
terrupt. It  was,  at  length,  broken 
by  the  young  man,  who  made  allu- 
sion to  the  paintings  in  question. 
Bertrand  realized  that  in  the  silence 
there  had  been  more  meaning  than 
in  many  words  spoken  by  a  woman 
of  the  world.  He  had  accepted  the 
invitation;  he  also  would  be  of  the 
party.  They  would  meet. 

"Have  you  not  been  attracted  also 
by  the  numberless  works  of  art  in 
London?"  he  said.  "This  very  morn- 
ing I,  by  chance,  visited  the  National 
Gallery  and  viewed  the  historic  pic- 
tures and  portraits.  I  remained  sev- 
eral hours,  and  was  much  interested. 
I  would,  in  fact,  have  remained  long- 
er had  I  not  desired  to  inquire  after 
your  health." 

It  was  true  that  he  had  visited  the 

37 


THE    SCREEN. 

Gallery  the  day  before,  but  why  he 
should  have  said  that  he  had  just 
made  the  visit  in  question  he  could 
not  explain. 

"I  thank  you  for  the  suggestion," 
replied  Mme.  de  Lautrec;  "I  will 
ask  Antoine  to  take  me  to  the  gal- 
lery. By-the-by,  we  neither  break- 
fast nor  dine  out  to-day." 

It  was  Friday,  and  Bertrand  knew 
that  the  devout  Marquise  feared  not 
to  be  able  to  abstain  from  meat  at 
the  table  of  a  Protestant.  As  though 
desiring  to  avoid  any  suggestion  of 
religious  scruples,  she  added: 

"After  a  week  in  London,  you 
know,  a  poor  little  Frenchwoman 
has  a  right  to  enjoy  a  rest.  These 
handsome  English  women  are  made 
of  steel.  Lady  Helston,  who  gave  us 
that  magnificent  ball  last  night,  had, 
at  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
opened  an  exposition  of  tissues  made 
in  her  county  by  the  poor,  and  she 
also  made  a  speech.  It  would  seem 
that  she  is  quite  an  orator.  You  do 
not  admire  such  energy,  I  suppose?" 

38 


THE    SCREEN. 

"Not  very  much,"  he  replied.  "I 
belong  to  the  old  school.  Woman, 
for  me,  represents  here  below  all 
that  is  delicate  and  fragile.  Woman 
should  award  the  prizes  at  the  tour- 
nament, but  she  should  never  de- 
scend into  the  arena." 

"There  is,  nevertheless,  a  social 
duty,"  replied  the  frail  Alyette,  with 
a  vivacity  which,  from  time  to  time, 
proclaimed  her  emotion,  "and  that  is 
the  truest  charity,  when  a  woman 
contributes  herself.  I  am  much  in- 
terested in  the  question,"  she  added, 
with  a  smile  which  corrected  that 
which  she  doubtless  found  indicated 
too  much  energy.  "I  would  never 
have  the  physical  endurance —  Good, 
here  is  M.  de  Lautrec !"  she  conclud- 
ed, hearing  her  husband  at  the  door. 

"I  am  a  little  late,"  said  Antoine, 
addressing  his  wife.  "I  make  you 
take  your  luncheon  too  much  after 
the  English  fashion.  I  have  just 
come  from  the  park.  Heavens !  what 
a  pleasure  it  is  to  be  in  a  country 
where  everything  is  in  its  proper 

39 


THE    SCREEN. 

place!  A  park  where  only  private 
carriages  are  permitted  to  enter. 
What  intelligence!  How  entirely 
proper!  We  should  introduce  the 
custom  in  Paris.  We  really  do  not 
know  how  things  should  be  done.  A 
book  of  peerage  at  our  service  like 
this,"  and  he  pointed  as  he  spoke  to 
a  huge  red  volume  on  the  table,  "this 
is  what  we  lack  in  France.  Is  it  not 
your  opinion,  D'Aydie?  But  you 
are  a  Radical,  as  were  your  ancestors 
of  the  night  of  August  4.  You  have 
seen,  however,  how  they  ended.  Will 
you  remain  and  lunch  with  us?  The 
air  must  have  given  you  an  appetite, 
as  it  has  me.  I  saw  you  a  short  time 
ago.  I  was  at  the  extreme  end  of 
Rotten  Row  when  you  were  coming 
down  the  grand  avenue  at  Kensing- 
ton with  Einmeline.  I  did  not  see 
De  Sarlieve." 

"Decidedly,"  thought  Bertrand, 
while  the  little  man  delivered  him- 
self of  his  discourse,  "only  husbands 
permit  themselves  to  gabble  in  such 
.1  manner.  He  will  relate  this  meet- 

40 


THE    SCREEN. 

ing  to  De  Sarlieve.  I  could  swear  to 
it.  Pshaw!  it  is  of  no  importance, 
after  all.  Emmeline  wTill  tell  him 
that  she  met  me  by  chance.  She  has, 
it  is  more  than  likely,  had  the  fore- 
thought to  tell  him  so  already.  It  is 
her  principle  never  to  lie  uselessly, 
and  she  is  right,  while  I  but  now  told 
Alyette  that  I  had  been  visiting  the 
National  Gallery!"  All  these  ideas 
presented  themselves  to  his  mind  as 
he  replied,  with  apparent  indiffer- 
ence: 

"So  you  saw  me?  Yes,  I  accom- 
panied Mme.  de  Sarlieve  a  few  steps. 
I  met  her  by  chance  while  crossing 
the  park;  I  regret  not  to  have  seen 
you.  We  might  have  returned  to- 
gether. No,  thanks;  I  cannot  lunch 
with  you  to-day.  I  expect  some  one 
myself,  and  must  go  at  once." 

Five  minutes  later,  he  went  away 
in  a  singularly  bad  humor. 

"It  is  too  stupid  that  I  should  have 

told  Mme.  de  Lautrec  that  I  had  just 

left  the  Gallery  when  I  called  upon 

her.    What  reason  had  I  to  try  to 

4- 


THE    SCREEN. 

prove  an  alibi  when  no  questions 
were  being  asked  me?"  He  laughed 
at  the  thought.  "It  was  a  bad  con- 
science! And  what  is  still  more 
stupid  is  that  I  did  not  dare  to  look 
at  Alyette  while  Antoine  convicted 
me  of  this  falsehood,  for  I  could  not 
have  been  at  Kensington  and  at  the 
same  time  at  Trafalgar  Square,  nor 
could  I  very  well  pass  through  Kens- 
ington on  my  return  here  from  Tra- 
falgar Square.  It  is  rather  out  of  the 
way.  But  she  will  not  think  any- 
thing about  it.  She  is  so  indifferent 
to  me !" 


42 


Ill 

In  Love  Without  Knowing  It 


43 


CHAPTER  III. 
In  Love  Without  Knowing  It. 

"Is  it  'by  chance'  that  Bertrand 
makes  love  to  Em  incline,  I  wonder  ?" 
said  Lautrec,  with  an  equivocal 
smile,  to  his  wife  when  they  were 
alone  together. 

Marquise  Alyette  appeared  shock- 
ed. 

"What  an  idea!  You  put  too  much 
stress  upon  his  words.  One  would 
really  think  that  you  were  delighted 
with  your  flight  of  fancy." 

"Oh!"  continued  Lautrec,  "fancy, 
is  it?  D'Aydie  is  young;  he  is  a 
handsome  and  intelligent  man.  He 
is  always  wherever  Emmeline  may  be 
found,  remember  that.  As  to  De  Sar- 
lieve,  I  like  him  very  much;  but, 
between  ourselves,  he  is  more  like  his 
mother  than  his  father.  She  was 
none  too  clever,  a  misfortune  repeat- 

45 


THE    SCREEN. 

ed  in  him.  In  a  word,  De  Sarlieve  is 
very  ordinary.  It  is  quite  natural 
that  Bertrand  has  been  encouraged, 
and  I  notice  he  appeared  not  a  little 
annoyed  when  I  spoke  to  him  just 
now  of  his  morning  tete-a-t£te  with 
Emmeline  in  Kensington  Gardens." 

"And  why  should  not  Emmeline 
and  he  have  met  by  chance — just  as 
he  told  you  quite  simply?"  interrupt- 
ed Alyette,  with  vivacity.  "A  man 
does  not  make  love  to  a  woman  un- 
less she  permits  him  to  do  so,  and 
Emmeline  would  not  allow  such  a 
thing.  She  is  not  a  woman  to  permit 
of  compromising  attentions  from 
any  man,  and  you  know  that  if  she 
were,  I  would  never  have  anything  to 
do  with  her." 

"Great  heavens !"  replied  her  hus- 
band, becoming  alarmed  at  the  tone 
of  his  wife,  "I  did  not  intend  to 
imply  that  your  friend  is  a  woman 
of  light  character.  Bertrand  could 
be  in  love  with  her  without  her  being 
aware  of  the  fact." 

"A  woman  is  always  aware  of 

46 


THE    SCREEN. 

such  things."  replied  the  Mar- 
quise, whose  growing  nervousness 
would  have  surprised  a  more 
thoughtful  man  than  Antoine  de 
Lautrec.  He  saw  in  it  only  a  sign 
of  the  affection  which  united  the 
two  young  women. 

"It  is  by  such  insinuations,"  con- 
tinued Mme.  de  Lautrec,  "that  irre- 
proachable reputations  have  been 
compromised.  A  word  is  lightly 
spoken  and  repeated.  Finally,  a 
story  is  told.  Whence  it  came  or 
how  originated,  no  one  knows,  but 
the  harm  is  done  all  the  same." 

"You  are  right,"  replied  Lautrec, 
entirely  disarmed.  "Harm  might 
have  been  done  had  I  perpetrated 
this  joke  before  any  one  else  but 
you.  Rest  assured  I  know  the  world 
too  well,  and  I  have  too  much  respect 
for  Emmeline.  Then,  if  poor  Guy  is 
rather  ordinary,  he  is  a  good  fellow, 
and  I  would  be  among  the  first  to 
regret  that  his  wife  should  be  talked 
about.  All  the  more  so,"  he  added, 
earnestly,  "because  I  am  very — yes, 

47 


THE    SCREEN. 

very — fond  of  Bertrand,  and  with 
any  one  as  quick-tempered  as  Guy  a 
suspicion  would  be  easily  aroused, 
and,  once  suspicious,  he  would  be- 
lieve the  worst  and  insult  Bertrand, 
who  is  not  long-suffering.  An  affair 
between  them  would  be  the  result, 
and  as  DeSarlieve  is  a  good  shot,  and 
as  skilful  with  his  sword  as  Machault, 
I  would  be  in  despair.  You  see,  we 
both  think  the  same  of  dear  Emme- 
line,  and  my  pleasantry  will  end 
here.  Besides."  he  concluded,  philo- 
sophically, "it  is  not  my  affair. 
Good,  the  luncheon  is  ready;  half- 
past  one,"  he  added,  looking  at  his 
watch.  "These  English  are  not  so 
bad,  after  all.  It  is  astonishing  how 
this  lengthens  the  day." 

"What  made  you  say  that  De  Sar- 
lieve  is  quick-tempered?"  asked  the 
Marquise.  Understanding  her  hus- 
band as  she  did,  she  feared  that  he 
hid  something  from  her.  Antoine 
de  Lautrec  appeared  embarrassed, 
but  they  now  entered  the  dining- 
room,  and  as  certain  topics  were  in- 

48 


TEE    SCREEN. 

terdicted  before  witnesses,  he  profit- 
ed by  the  presence  of  the  servants 
to  evade  an  answer,  which  the 
sudden  severity  of  his  wife  would 
have  rendered  painful. 

"Oh,  nothing  important,"  he  re- 
plied. "You  made  me  think  of  it. 
We  met  just  now,  De  Sarlieve  and  I ; 
it  was  as  I  came  in.  He  had  hailed 
a  carriage  to  go  out  to  luncheon.  We 
exchanged  a  few  words;  I  had  no 
reason  to  hide  from  him  that  I  had 
just  seen  Emmeline  and  Bertrand 
at  Kensington." 

"And  then?"  she  asked,  anxiously. 

"Well,  he  did  not  say  anything; 
but  since  I  have  spoken  to  you  upon 
the  subject,  I  think  I  was  wrong, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  think  he  ap- 
peared annoyed.  I  may  be  deceived, 
however,  because  at  the  time  I  was 
not  so  impressed.  No,  not  at  all." 

The  maladroit  but  very  loyal 
descendant  of  the  De  Lautrecs  had  a 
genius  only  for  unraveling  the  com- 
plicated skein  of  relationships,  and 
he  failed  entirely  to  comprehend 

4  49 


THE   SCREEN. 

Alyette's  present  humor,  so  strongly 
in  contrast  to  her  usual  manner. 
She  ate  of  but  little,  and  spoke 
scarcely  twenty  words.  After  leav- 
ing the  table  she  complained  of  a 
headache,  and  announced  her  inten- 
tion of  resting,  in  order  to  be  in 
a  condition  to  go  at  five  o'clock  to 
Durlock  House,  one  the  most 
magnificent  establishments  in  Lon- 
don, where  the  countess  of  the  same 
name,  the  pretty  and  spirituelle 
Lady  Durlock,  gave  a  reception. 
This  at  least  afforded  her  husband 
a  pretext  to  drop  the  subject  spoken 
of  before  the  meal,  and  he  began  to 
give  some  genealogical  details  of  this 
great  family  of  Durlock  and  of  the 
Scottish  nobility  in  general.  During 
the  few  days  he  had  been  in  London 
he  knew  already  by  heart  all  the 
titles  of  the  twenty-one  English 
dukes  and  eldest  sons  of  the  dukes. 
The  order  of  the  precedence  of  the 
marquises  was  no  secret  to  him;  he 
knew  even  the  date  of  the  creation 
of  all  the  earls  anterior  to  the 

50 


TEE    SCREEN. 

Georges.  Usually  the  young  wife 
entertained  an  artless  ridicule,  a 
laughing  indulgence  for  this  weak- 
ness, while  realizing  the  real  virtue 
that  Antoine  de  Lautrec  developed  in 
himself  by  his  respect  for  his  own 
name.  He  had  renounced  a  large 
fortune  because  it  had  been  acquired 
by  a  near  ancestor  through  a  mar- 
riage with  the  daughter  of  a  grub- 
bing financier.  On  this  particular 
morning  her  impatience  was  great, 
and  she  interrupted  him  by  saying 
that  she  was  suffering  and  desired 
to  be  alone.  He  left  her,  saying,  in 
a  tone  that  under  other  circum- 
stances would  have  touched  her : 

"You  have  forgiven  me,  have  you 
not,  for  my  thoughtlessness  respect- 
ing Emmeline?" 

"Certainly,"  she  said,  shrugging 
her  shoulders.  "I  shall  not  think  of 
it  again." 

If  the  pretext  of  the  headache  was 
but  a  half  falsehood,  this  last  little 
phrase  constituted,  in  fact,  an  entire 
falsehood,  but  very  venial.  How 

51 


THE    SCREEN. 

could  Alyette  acknowledge  to  her 
husband  the  truth  of  her  sentiments? 
She  herself  scarcely  understood  the 
irritation  she  had  experienced  from 
the  moment  she  noticed  the  altered 
expression  of  Bertrand  d'Aydie's 
face  when  Antoine  de  Lautrec  had 
spoken  of  the  promenade  in  Kensing- 
ton Park  with  Emmeline,  and,  in- 
stantly, instinctively  she  asked  her- 
self a  question  respecting  which  each 
phrase  her  husband  had  uttered  was 
an  almost  insupportable  commen- 
tary. 

"Why  did  both  of  them  hide  this 
walk  from  me?  Did  he  not  tell  me 
he  had  passed  the  morning  in  the 
Gallery,  while  she,  on  going  out,  told 
me  she  was  going  shopping?  They 
both  lied  to  me,  and  why?" 

The  reply  to  this  question  the 
simple  common  sense  of  Antoine  de 
Lautrec  had  divined,  and  when 
Alyette  had  revolted  so  quickly 
against  the  idea  that  Bertrand  was 
making  love  to  Emmeline,  this  re- 
volt was  addressed  more  particu- 

52 


THE    SCREEN. 

larly  to  her  own  thoughts  than  to  the 
inoffensive  gossip  of  her  husband. 
But  if  her  indignation  imposed 
silence  upon  the  subject,  the  thought 
was  not  killed,  and  from  the  begin- 
ning of  the  breakfast  up  to  the  time 
that  De  Lautrec,  banished,  had 
crossed  the  threshold  of  the  door  and 
she  found  herself  alone,  free  to 
search  her  soul,  she  had  not  ceased 
to  repeat  the  simple  words:  "Ber- 
trand  makes  love  to  Emmeline,"  and 
each  time  she  uttered  them  mentally, 
it  was  as  though  a  thorn  pierced  her 
brain.  Each  time  she  endured  this 
agony,  one  more  experienced  would 
have  recognized  a  cry  of  jealousy 
most  startling  and  characteristic. 

The  irreproachable  Alyette  had 
never  admitted  to  herself,  even  for 
a  second,  that  she  cared  for  Bertrand 
d'Aydie.  She  was  too  modest,  too 
reserved,  too  pious  to  conceive  that 
she  could  experience  anything  of  love 
outside  of  marriage;  and  on  this 
afternoon,  when,  in  the  quiet  of  her 
room,  she  recalled  again  and  again 

53 


THE    SCREEN. 

what  her  husband  had  revealed,  the 
pretty  woman  failed  to  realize  the 
true  inwardness  of  her  own  senti- 
ments. The  image  of  her  perfidious 
friend  and  that  of  the  young  man, 
so  associated,  tortured  her  mind  with 
feelings  which  she  refused  to  accept, 
and  which  she  did  not  understand. 
She  repelled  them,  for  to  admit  that 
she  was  jealous  was  to  acknowledge 
that  she  was  in  love.  And  at  this 
very  moment  when  the  suffering  of 
jealousy  came  to  reveal  this  love,  she 
refused  to  acknowledge  it,  and,  in 
reality,  did  not  realize  the  full  truth. 
No,  no  more  than  she  saw  the  thick 
foliage  of  the  trees  that  threw  their 
long  shadows  upon  the  window 
from  the  square  without,  although 
she  looked  at  them  through  her  half- 
closed  eyes.  All  her  mind  was  con- 
centrated on  the  thoughts  that  this 
sudden  suspicion  had  called  forth, 
and,  in  spite  of  herself,  she  murmur- 
ed, "They  appoint  interviews  and 
hide  them  from  me." 
"Oh,  well,"  she  thought,  "it  must 

54 


THE    SCREEN. 

have  been  an  accidental  meeting, 
and  yet,  had  it  been  accidental, 
would  he  not  have  told  me  about  it 
and  not  have  lied?  For  he  did  lie 
to  me,  and  deliberately." 

She  scarcely  knew  what  name  to 
give  D' Ay  die  when  she  reflected 
upon  his  deception.  This  alone 
should  have  taught  her  how  deeply 
the  young  man  troubled  her  soul, 
but  this  trouble  could  also  be  ex- 
plained by  the  discovery  of  the  in- 
delicate game  the  lovers  had  played 
with  her,  and  she  continued  to 
reason. 

"It  is  not  only  to-day  that  I  have 
thought  they  acted  strangely  toward 
each  other.  But  what  an  unworthy 
comedy,  and  how  could  any  one  sup- 
pose that  they  would  plan  to  play 
it?  When  he  began  to  visit  me  so 
frequently,  I  remember  Emmeline 
jested  upon  the  subject.  I  can  hear 
her  say :  'I  assure  you  that  he  has  an 
attachment.  It  is  plainly  to  be  seen.' 
She,  my  companion  from  childhood; 
she,  whom  I  have  loved  so  dearly,  to 

55 


THE    SCREEN. 

deceive  me  thus!  No,  it  is  impossi- 
ble. As  to  him,  when  I  recall  his 
delicacy,  his  respectful  attention, 
and  how  sincerely  I  have  esteemed 
him,  this  hypocrisy  seems  impossi- 
ble. Why  should  he  deceive  me?" 

The  pure,  noble  soul  of  the  woman 
halted  at  this  point.  She  could  not, 
she  dare  not,  formulate  the  obvious 
conclusion :  "They  have  used  me  in 
order  to  carry  on  their  intrigue.  He 
assumed  to  love  me,  and  she  pretend- 
ed to  believe  that  he  loved  me,  in 
order  that  the  acknowledged  passion 
should  protect  the  true  passion."  To 
this  conclusion  Alyette  was  forced 
to  come  in  the  end,  despite  her 
efforts  to  excuse,  and  she  was,  more- 
over, compelled  to  acknowledge  that 
this  was  not  the  first  sign  that  she 
had  of  a  mysterious  understanding 
between  D'Aydie  and  Mme.  de  Sar- 
lieve.  The  guilty  ones,  grown  bold- 
er, had  committed  many  imprudent 
acts,  which  ended  by  arousing  in  the 
most  blind  a  latent  suspicion  that 
rendered  the  least  event  evidence. 

56 


THE    SCREEN. 

This  sudden  awakening  to  the  fact  of 
such  long  duplicity  filled  Alyette 
with  feelings  of  indignation  and 
anger;  but  alas!  they  were  not  in- 
spired by  virtue  in  revolt,  or  insulted 
friendship.  She  now  recalled  past 
events,  as  well  as  more  recent  ones, 
which  she  interpreted  in  an  entirely 
new  light. 

"It  was  then  because  of  this,"  she 
soliloquized  again,  "that,  fifteen  days 
ago,  when  Bertrand  called  to  ask  me 
if  I  had  any  commissions  for  London 
and  I  replied,  'I  am  going  myself,' 
he  appeared  so  little  surprised.  Our 
journey  was  decided  on  that  morning 
with  Emmeline.  She  had  told  him, 
but  I  did  not  then  understand. 
When  she  asked  me  a  few  evenings 
since  to  present  her  to  Lady  Semley, 
it  was  because  she  desired  to  have 
him  invited  to  visit  the  country  with 
us  to-morrow.  I  did  not  comprehend 
this  winter,  when  she  was  to  dine 
with  me,  for  what  purpose  she  said, 
'Be  good  to  D'Aydie ;  invite  him.  He 
is  so  devoted,  and  he  places  you  on 

57 


THE    SCREEN. 

such  a  pedestal/  It  was  that  she 
might  meet  him  at  our  house,  and  I 
did  not  understand.  I  was  blind. 
When  I  allowed  myself  to  be  teased 
by  one  person  or  another  upon  his 
fancy  for  me,  I  smiled  and  thought 
it  was  my  duty  not  to  punish  one 
who  had  in  every  way  shown  himself 
to  be  such  a  true  and  honest  man, 
and  did  not  merit  the  malignity  of 
the  world.  During  this  very  time  he 
was  pursuing  this  secret  intimacy. 
What  intimacy?  Since  they  desired 
to  hide  it,  what  was  the  nature  of  the 
intimacy?  No,  no,  I  am  dreaming. 
It  cannot  be  possible ;  it  is  not  possi- 
ble!" 

Such  were  the  alternating  doubts 
and  convictions  that  passed  through 
the  mind  of  this  woman,  whom  all 
the  world  called  a  saint. 

These  drawing-room  canonizations 
have  generally  nothing  in  com- 
mon with  those  of  the  Church. 
Alyette  de  Lautrec  was,  in  reality, 
a  soul  deeply  and  infinitely  sensible, 
unconsciously  romantic,  with  great 

58 


THE    SCREEN. 

faith,  and  an  innate  taste  for  regu- 
larity, and,  above  all,  for  the  strict 
observance  of  conventionality.  This 
sort  of  women  enjoy  in  society  a 
success  analogous  to  that  of  certain 
books,  "very  well  written,  very  well 
conceived,"  but  their  leaves  are  left 
unturned.  They  are  spoken  of  seri- 
ously in  terms  of  respect,  and  then 
the  speakers  pass  on  to  the  wicked 
novels  of  the  day.  Pretty  as  Alyette 
was,  and  although  she  lived  in  the 
midst  of  the  highest  of  Parisian 
society,  where  gallantry  and  idleness 
go  hand-in-hand,  no  man  had  ever 
occupied  himself  writh  thoughts  of 
her.  The  clubmen  and  sporting  men, 
among  whom  the  professional  lovers 
of  Paris  are  found,  were  positively 
too  practical  to  lose  their  time  near  a 
woman  who  was  not  coquettish,  and 
whom  they  knew  to  be  protected  by 
real  principle.  The  Marquise  had 
arrived  at  the  age  of  twenty-eight 
without  any  love  affair  having  cross- 
ed her  life.  For  her  husband  she 
entertained  only  esteem.  Their  two 
59 


THE    SCREEN. 

children  had  died  soon  after  their 
birth.  De  Lautrec,  with  his  strange 
mania  for  pedigrees,  gave  attention 
to  but  little  else.  These  various  cir- 
cumstances caused  an  existence  irre- 
proachable, but  completely  empty,  so 
the  apparently  disinterested  and 
delicate  attentions  of  Bertrand 
d'Aydie  had  assumed,  little  by  little, 
a  place  in  her  life.  The  saint  was, 
however,  about  to  perceive  the  dan- 
ger that  is  run,  when  one  is  tender 
and  dreamy  and  the  subject  of  an 
innocent  but  indefinable  influence,  in 
which  no  word  of  love  is  spoken,  but 
in  which  it  is  not  the  less  felt.  A  day 
will  come,  an  hour,  in  which  the 
truth  is  realized;  when  the  knowl- 
edge is  forced  upon  the  mind:  that 
the  heart  we  thought  filled  alone  by 
friendship,  peaceful,  tender  friend- 
ship, has  become  the  abode  of  love,  a 
love  passionate  and  deep,  a  love  in 
which  the  entire  being  is  absorbed. 
To  such  truths  many  have  awakened. 
When  love  has  stolen  into  the  soul 
60 


THE    SCREEN. 

it  is  too  late  to  root  it  out,  without 
destroying  the  one  who  loves. 

How  long  Mme.de  Lautrec  remain- 
ed thus  crushed  by  her  thoughts  and 
her  emotions,  wrapped  in  her  memo- 
ries, she  knew  not.  A  vulgar  detail 
brought  reality  back  to  her;  it  was 
the  entrance  of  her  maid,  who  in- 
quired what  toilet  she  proposed  to 
make  for  her  afternoon  outing.  She 
looked  at  the  clock.  It  was  nearly 
five.  She  had  been  nearly  two  hours 
occupied  by  her  thoughts.  She  sud- 
denly recollected  that  she  was  ex- 
pected at  Lady  Durlock's.  And  by 
whom?  By  Emmeline  de  Sarlieve 
herself.  Her  first  impulse  was  to 
say:  "I  will  not  go,"  but  at  the 
second  she  dressed  herself  as  quickly 
as  possible.  When  jealousy  com- 
mences to  awaken  there  arises  at  the 
same  time  the  desire  to  know  all. 
This  led  her  to  wish  to  see  before  her 
eyes  the  faces  of  those  whom  she  sus- 
pected of  complicity.  In  the  hired 
victoria  which  carried  her  to  Mount 
Street,  near  Park  Lane,  where  was  to 

61 


THE    SCREEN. 

be  found  the  imposing  Durlock 
House,  she  asked  of  herself:  "What 
will  she  tell  me  of  the  way  she  spent 
her  morning?  Heavens !  How  I  hope 
that  she  at  least  will  not  lie.  Then 
I  might  believe  that  they  met  only  by 
chance.  But  his  falsehood  remains. 
Well,  he  will  explain  it  to  me." 

It  was  on  this  hope  that  Alyette 
alighted  from  the  carriage  at  the 
palace  in  which,  for  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years,  the  modern  heirs  of  the 
savage  clan  of  Durlock,  so  feared 
formerly  on  the  frontier,  and  from 
which  Montrose  had  drawn  his  most 
ferocious  followers,  had  resided. 
Everything  in  this  beautiful  dwell- 
ing of  the  eighteenth  century  reveal- 
ed one  of  those  quasi-royal  recep- 
tions which  are  given  once  during 
the  season,  in  London  so  democratic 
throughout  the  year,  so  intensely 
aristocratic  during  two  months. 
The  line  of  carriages  drawn  up  be- 
fore the  entrance,  the  crowd  of  foot- 
men who  waited  upon  the  steps  and 
in  the  antechamber,  the  many  serv- 

62 


THE    SCREEN. 

ants  in  livery  and  powder,  who  an- 
nounced the  guests,  the  sumptuous- 
ness  of  the  rooms,  hung  with  pictures 
of  old  masters,  through  which  they 
passed  to  reach  the  garden,  pro- 
claimed the  elegance  of  this  func- 
tion, which  was  framed  by  the 
scenery  of  a  veritable  park,  an  oasis 
of  trees  and  green  sward.  Musi- 
cians filled  the  garden  with  gay 
music,  and  on  the  thick,  soft  grass 
promenaded  the  lovely  goddesses  of 
the  Britannic  Olympus,  in  which 
there  are  so  many  beautiful  beings. 
There  was  a  profusion  of  bright- 
colored  gowns,  of  batistes,  delicate 
silks,  and  this  prodigality  of  luxury 
was  enhanced  by  the  opulence  of  the 
jewels  which  the  women,  who  were 
almost  all  tall  and  stately,  wore  in 
full  day.  Necklaces  of  pearls  en- 
circled their  necks;  large  turquoise 
buttoned  their  light  blouses;  dia- 
monds, rubies,  sapphires  pinned 
their  hats.  As  there  is  always  some- 
thing of  utility  in  English  pleasures, 
even  garden  parties,  the  tables  on  the 

63 


THE    SCREEN. 

veranda  were  covered  with  pieces  of 
stuff,  homespun,  as  it  is  called  in  the 
village  in  the  Highlands  where  Lady 
Durlock  had  her  hunting-lodge.  The 
pretty  Countess,  who,  dressed  in 
white,  received  the  guests,  with  her 
bright  smiles  and  her  beautiful  blue 
eyes,  had  organized  this  exposition 
in  order  to  encourage  by  her  influ- 
ence the  local  industry ;  so,  below  on 
the  lawn,  beside  the  tent  in  which  the 
orchestra  played,  three  old  peasants, 
who  had  come  from  Scotland,  wove 
this  coarse  material. 

Mme.  de  Lautrec  was  no  longer  in 
ecstacy,  as  she  had  been  some  hours 
before,  in  the  presence  of  this  exam- 
ple of  social  duty.  In  the  pic- 
turesque jumble  of  the  hundred 
guests,  men  and  women,  who  drank 
tea,  handled  the  homespun,  looked 
curiously  at  the  old  Scotch  weavers, 
and  walked  to  and  fro  listening  to 
the  music  and  breathing  the  fresh 
air  beneath  the  trees,  the  Marquise 
saw  only  the  face  of  Emmeline  in 
animated  conversation,  and,  as  al- 

64 


TEE   SCREEN. 

ways,  charming,  adorable  and  almost 
childlike  in  her  gaiety.  She  was  con- 
versing with  one  of  the  ministers  of 
the  Cabinet  then  in  power,  the  eldest 
son  of  a  duke,  a  young  man  of  about 
thirty-four,  who  replied  to  her  phleg- 
matically : 

"No,  Madame,  I  assure  you  that 
there  is  no  advantage  in  being  a 
peer,  and  I  will  be  twice  sorry  when 
I  am  obliged  to  enter  the  Upper 
Chamber.  First,  because  I  shall 
have  lost  my  father,  and  then  be- 
cause I  will  be  obliged  to  quit  the 
House  of  Commons,  where  there  are 
real  fights." 

"It  is  surprising,"  said  Emmeline, 
some  minutes  later  to  Mme.  de  Lau- 
trec,when  the  latter  joined  her,  "they 
amuse  themselves  like  our  young 
French  people  and  even  more  gaily, 
and  they  take  as  much  pleasure  in 
politics  as  though  they  formed  a  part 
of  a  life  of  pleasure.  I  said  this  but 
now  to  your  friend,  D'Aydie,  to 
make  him  ashamed  of  his  laziness." 

"Is  he  here?"  asked  Alyette,  and 

5  65 


THE   SCREEN. 

she  thought:  "No,  there  cannot  be 
any  intrigue  between  them.  She 
would  not  look  thus  when  she  men- 
tioned his  name ;  she  would  not  dare 
to  tease  me,  or  speak  of  him.  But 
will  she  tell  me  of  their  walk?" 

"He  has  gone,"  replied  Emmeline. 
"He  doubtless  thought  you  did  not 
intend  to  come."  She  added, 
thoughtfully:  "I  think  I  was  wrong 
to  advise  you  to  be  amiable  toward 
him.  I  fear  he  entertains  a  sentiment 
entirely  serious.  If  you  had  but 
seen  him  this  morning  when  I  met 
him  strolling  alone  in  Kensington 
Gardens.  He  looked  for  all  the 
world  like  an  unhappy  lover." 

As  she  said  this  she  laughed,  while 
looking  through  her  half-closed  eyes 
at  her  friend,  who  drank  in  every 
word  she  uttered.  This  teasing  was 
carried  on  so  naturally,  so  artlessly ; 
there  was  so  much  simplicity  in  this 
allusion  to  the  t£te-a-t6te  that  had 
so  greatly  tormented  her  that  the 
poor  dreamer  seemed  to  have  been 
delivered  from  a  nightmare.  The 

66 


THE    SCREEN. 

thought  of  this  walk  succeeding  the 
visit  to  the  picture  gallery,  which  all 
the  afternoon  had  appeared  very  un- 
likely on  account  of  the  distance, 
now  became  not  only  plausible,  but 
evident. 

The  calm  was  not,  however,  to  last. 
New  evidence  came  to  dissipate  her 
confidence  which  Emmeline  had  so 
adroitly  managed  to  inspire.  While 
the  two  friends  talked  a  person  ap- 
proached them,  causing  Mme.  de  Sar- 
lieve  to  exclaim : 

"Here  comes  my  husband;  I  will 
leave  you  together  and  return  home. 
I  have  been  out  since  eleven  o'clock 
this  morning,  and  it  is  certainly  time 
for  me  to  take  a  rest,  as  there  is  for 
this  evening  a  grand  dinner,  to  be 
followed  by  a  ball.  One  fine  morn- 
ing, should  I  continue  to  reside  in 
London,  I  would  wake  up  dead." 

"She  says  this,"  said  Alyette  to  De 
Sarlieve,  when  they  were  alone,  "and 
yet  it  is  her  true  life.  She  is  very 
full  of  go." 

"And  you,  too,  Madame,"  said  De 

67 


TEE   SCREEN. 

Sarlieve.  "It  seems  to  me  that  you 
are  in  the  harness.  Yes,  you  are  at 
all  the  f£tes.  You  are  here  now,  and 
you  dine  with  us  at  Roland  Barrett's 
I  suppose?" 

"No,"  she  replied ;  "I  dine  at  home 
with  my  husband." 

"You  are  going  to-morrow  to  Sem- 
ley  Manor  with  Emmeline?"  he  con- 
tinued. 

What  made  Alyette  think  that 
while  asking  this  simple  question 
the  husband  of  her  friend  had  in  his 
eyes  a  look  of  malicious  inquiry? 
She  had  never  had  much  sympathy 
for  De  Sarlieve,  with  his  rude  man- 
ners, his  green,  bloodshot  eyes,  and 
his  muddy-looking  complexion.  At 
this  moment  it  seemed  to  her  as 
though  the  curl  of  his  lips  expressed 
a  cruel  grin.  It  was  but  a  second, 
and  then  she  replied : 

"Certainly;  and  you,  also,  I 
suppose?" 

"No,"  he  replied;  "I  had  already 
made  an  engagement  with  a  friend 

68 


THE    SCREEN. 

to  go  and  look  at  some  horses  day 
after  to-morrow." 

Then  in  a  voice  seemingly  indiffer- 
ent, and  with  an  absent  manner,  but 
with  the  same  unpleasant  expres- 
sion: 

"D'Aydie  will  be  of  the  party,  so 
Emmeline  says."  As  Mme.  de  Lau- 
trec  did  not  reply,  he  added :  "It  was 
you  who  presented  him  to  Lady 
Semley,  I  believe?" 

"Yes,"  she  replied.    "Why?" 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  simply  asked  to 
learn  how  he  came  to  know  her," 
said  De  Sarlieve. 

His  green  eyes  no  longer  tore  the 
face  of  the  young  woman.  He  ap- 
peared entirely  absorbed  in  the  com- 
ing and  going  of  the  needles  of  the 
homespun  weavers,  and,  changing 
the  subject,  he  said: 

"Have  you  observed  how  quickly 
and  accurately  they  work?  It  is 
very  curious." 

He  took  a  few  steps  around  the 
spinners,  and  Alyette  followed  him 
mechanically,  but  two  ideas  wound- 

69 


THE    SCREEN. 

ed  her  heart.  The  first  was  that  in 
asking  her  to  present  Bertrand  to 
Lady  Semley,  Emmeline  desired  to 
have  the  young  man  invited  without 
her  husband,  and  also  to  throw  upon 
Alyette  the  responsibility  of  the  invi- 
tation. The  second  was  that  De  Sar- 
lieve  himself  suspected  a  hidden 
liaison  between  Emmeline  and  Ber- 
trand. And  she  knew  not  which  of 
these  two  ideas  wounded  her  the 
most. 


IV 


71 


CHAPTER  IV. 
From  Saturday  to  Monday. 

Among  the  original  pictures  Lon- 
don presents  without  ceasing  for  the 
idle  amusement  of  the  French  travel- 
er, nothing  is  more  odd  perhaps  than 
the  great  railway  stations  be- 
tween five  and  six  o'clock  on  Satur- 
days during  the  season.  All  English 
society  is  there,  seen  hurrying  to  and 
fro  on  the  platforms  on  the  way  to 
pay  visits  from  sixty  to  a  hundred 
miles  from  London  at  some  one 
of  the  innumerable  chateaux,  lodges, 
houses,  abbeys  and  manors  of 
the  neighboring  shires.  In  the 
crowd  at  the  Paddington  Station 
the  next  day  were  two  guests  of 
Lady  Semley's  party,  Lord  Hels- 
ton  and  Bertrand  d'Aydie.  For 
twenty-four  hours  the  innocent 
roue' — far  more  innocent  under  the 
TJ 


THE    SCREEN. 

circumstance  than  artful — had  not 
dared  to  appear  before  Alyette  de 
Lautrec.  He  had  waited  to  see  her 
with  an  almost  feverish  impatience, 
which  should  have  made  Emmeline 
reflect  on  the  danger  of  having  a 
screen-friend.  The  half  attention  he 
consequently  paid  his  companion's 
remarks  sufficed,  however,  for  Lord 
Helston,  who  was  profoundly  happy 
in  having  cornered  a  Parisian.  He 
was  one  of  those  great  British  lords 
who  spend  their  immense  revenues 
in  seeing  all  that  there  is  to  be  seen 
in  this  lower  world,  every  country 
and  all  peoples. 

Helston  had  talked  with  Napoleon 
III.,  Pope  Pius  IX.,  Garibaldi,  Gam- 
betta,  Bismarck,  Wagner,  General 
Boulanger,  the  Emperor  Menelek, 
Longfellow,  and  Dom  Pedro.  Whom 
had  he  not  seen  and  known  among 
the  notable  men  of  his  time?  He  had 
lived  in  India,  China,  Japan  and  in 
North  and  South  America.  He  had 
served  in  the  first  part  of  the  Franco- 
German  war  on  the  staff  of  the 

74 


TEE    SCREEN. 

Prince  Royal,  and,  in  the  siege  of 
Paris,  on  that  of  General  Trochu. 
His  phlegmatic  temperament  could 
be  stirred  only  by  excitement.  He 
was  a  man  of  about  sixty  years  of 
age,  very  slight,  and  with  a  thin 
face,  closely  shaven.  He  looked 
scarcely  fifty.  He  conversed  well, 
but  he  knew  too  much.  He  said  to 
Bertrand : 

"You  are  going  to  see  a  true  sam- 
ple of  English  life,  my  dear  Monsieur 
d'Aydie,  here  in  this  carriage." 

As  he  spoke,  he  pointed  to  the 
first-class  coach  which  Lady  Semley 
had  had  reserved  for  her  guests. 

"In  Lady  Helston,  my  wife,  you 
have  a  very  good  type  of  the  political 
life  of  this  country.  You  know,  I 
suppose,  that  she  is  a  socialist?  Of 
course,  a  very  rose-water  sort  of 
socialism.  You  say  that,  do  you  not? 
We  say  milk  and  water.  The  French 
are  more  artistic  than  we  are;  yes, 
even  in  their  proverbs." 

While  saying  this  an  indefinable 
smile,  full  of  insolent  condescen- 

75 


TEE    SCREEN. 

sion,  curled  his  lips,  a  condescen- 
sion peculiar  to  the  vain  islanders 
when  they  compliment  a  stranger. 

"All  the  same,"  he  continued,  "at 
the  last  elections  she  dislodged  the 
Conservative  candidate.  In  Sir 
John  Rigg  you  have  a  fine  example 
of  the  true  sportsman  of  our  country. 
You  have  not  met  him?  No?  He  is 
captain  of  the  Blues,  but  he  passes 
six  months  out  of  the  twelve  in  Af- 
rica hunting  wild  beasts.  He  holds 
the  record  for  lion  killing.  He  has,  I 
believe,  killed  as  many  as  fifty-two. 
Lord  Kilpatrick,  the  old  judge,  will 
also  be  there.  He  is  a  specimen  of 
English  piety,  and  is  one  of  three 
or  four  partisans  of  what  is  called 
High  Church,  who  wish  to  make 
themselves  heard  at  Rome.  He  is 
rather  too  fond  of  old  port  wine. 
That  is  his  only  fault.  You  will 
meet  the  Roland  Barretts,  the  yacht 
people,  Lady  Ardrahan  and  her 
daughter,  the  horsewomen.  Politics, 
religion,  hunting,  yachting  and  rid- 
ing will  be  well  represented,  and  if 

76 


THE   SCREEN. 

you  will  allow  ine  to  include  myself, 
the  journey  embraces  all  England. 
But  here  are  all  our  people  arriving 
at  once.  Come,  let  us  assist  the 
ladies." 

The  different  personages  enumer- 
ated by  the  polygot  and  dilettante 
lord  arrived  with  great  hampers  and 
trunks  carried  by  porters.  Little 
boys  went  to  and  fro  before  them, 
carrying  baskets,  newspapers,  maga- 
zines, fruits,  great  bunches  of  hot 
house  grapes,  and  large  strawberries. 
An  atmosphere  of  steam  and  smoke 
enveloped  the  scene  of  departure. 
Everybody  crossed  the  platform  at 
wTill,  hurrying  toward  the  trains  that 
were  ready  to  depart  on  the  five  or 
six  tracks.  Every  five  minutes  one 
of  the  uniformed  employees  raised  a 
flag,  a  guard  whistled,  and  a  train 
moved  out  quickly,  to  be  replaced  in 
a  minute  by  another  train.  Many 
times  afterward  D'Aydie  was  des- 
tined to  see,  in  imagination,  this 
panorama  of  mechanical  activity, 
rendering  more  gracious  by  its  bru- 

77 


'THE    SCREEN. 

tal  contrast  the  picture  of  the  two 
women  who  occupied  such  a  place 
in  his  sentimental  life.  Mme.  de 
Sarlieve,  so  fresh  and  young  in  her 
toilet  of  green  cloth,  addressed 
him  as  soon  as  she  saw  him  with  a 
smile  in  which  there  was  a  little  air 
of  mystery,  of  avowal,  of  prudence, 
and  of  pride.  He  saw  this  smile,  and 
he  was  touched,  but  not  the  less  by 
the  pallor  of  the  face  of  the  other, 
the  reserve  and  modesty  of  Alyette, 
whose  face  was  rendered  even  more 
pale  by  the  grayish  hue  of  her  gown 
and  the  lassitude  provoked  by  sleep- 
lessness. He  needed  nothing  further 
to  tell  him  that  Mme.  de  Lautrec  had 
detected  his  lie  of  the  previous  day, 
and  that  because  of  this  deception, 
she  had  suspected  the  truth.  He  ex- 
perienced a  sense  of  shame  at  the 
thought  that,  if  this  truth  pained 
her,  it  proved  beyond  a  doubt  that 
he  was  not  indifferent  to  her.  The 
secret  emotion  called  forth  in  him 
by  this  sudden  evidence  that  he  in- 
terested so  forcibly  the  pious  Mar- 

78 


THE    SCREEN^ 

quise  filled  him  with  fear.  Linked 
as  he  was  with  Emmeline,  he  real- 
ized that  he  had  inspired  in  the  other 
a  profound  sentiment,  notwithstand- 
ing the  game  he  had  played.  It  has 
already  been  said  too  often  that  he 
was  a  lover  of  love,  and  it  is  certain 
that  in  installing  himself  on  one  of 
the  seats  in  the  compartment  Mme. 
de  Lautrec  had  entered,  all  prudent 
calculations  were  banished  from  his 
thoughts.  He  would  have  preferred 
to  be  alone  with  her,  to  have  spoken 
to  her,  to  have  explained,  in  order 
to  have  obtained  from  her  eyes  a  look 
less  severe  and  distant.  But  did  not 
her  enforced  coldness  betray  sadness 
very  flattering  to  the  amour  propre 
of  the  young  man?  He  thus  forgot 
to  observe  other  eyes,  those  of  Emme- 
line, which,  at  first,  radiant  with 
tender  gaiety,  became  clouded  and 
more  and  more  saddened,  as  the 
visible  preoccupation  of  D'Aydie  for 
the  pale,  nervous  Alyette  grew  ap- 
parent. Meanwhile,  the  train  rolled 

79 


THE   SCREEft. 

on  rapidly,  stopping  only  at  Reading, 
Oxford  and  Banbury. 

The  big  Kilpatrick,  the  old  Scotch 
judge,  tried  to  entertain,  in  bad 
French,  Mme.  de  Lautrec,  knowing 
her  to  be  a  good  Catholic,  by  stories 
of  the  Oxford  movement.  But  the 
names  of  Pusey,  Ward  and  their 
contemporaries  were  enigmas  to  the 
charming  woman.  She  was  longing 
to  know  the  truth  respecting  Emme- 
line  and  Bertrand,  but  while  her 
mind  was  busy  with  her  own 
thoughts,  she  appeared  to  listen  to 
the  old  judge. 

"You  will  see  a  very  fine  collection 
of  beasts  at  Semley  Manor,"  Sir  John 
Rigg  was  saying  to  Mme.  De  Sar- 
lieve,  who  found  a  way  to  pay  atten- 
tion to  the  hunter  without  ceasing  to 

o 

watch  either  Alyette  or  D'Aydie. 
"Semley  was  at  one  time  the  best  gun 
in  England." 

During  this  and  other  idle  conver- 
sation, the  train  rushed  on  with  be- 
wildering speed,  and  at  length  reach- 
ed Banbury.  The  coach  was  there 

80 


THE    SCREEN^ 

detached  from  the  express  and 
switched  to  a  branch  road,  whence 
it  wended  its  way  through  the  most 
picturesque  and  verdant  country  to 
the  little  Northamptonshire  Station 
near  Semley  Manor.  For  the  second 
time  D'Aydie  realized  that  he  was  in 
danger  of  becoming  really  in  love 
with  Alyette,  who  remained  still 
ensconced  in  a  corner  of  the  carriage, 
in  appearance  indifferent,  but  in 
reality  greatly  overcome  by  all  that 
she  was  compelled  to  acknowledge  to 
herself,  when,  on  arriving  at  the  sta- 
tion, she  saw  Emmeline  take  D'Aydie 
aside  and  speak  to  him  excitedly. 

"What  is  she  saying  to  him?  Oh, 
I  know  that  I  cannot  endure  to  see 
them  speak  thus.  Great  heavens, 
how  terrible ;  I  am  jealous." 

"Listen,  Bertrand,"  began  Mme. 
de  Sarlieve,  "do  not  look  at  Alyette 
again  as  you  have  been  doing.  I 
cannot  endure  it." 

"But  you  know  very  well,"  he  re- 
plied, with  an  embarrassment  that 
did  not  escape  the  searching  glance 

6  81 


TEE    SCREEN. 

of  the  Countess,  "that  I  am  only 
afraid  that  she  may  suspect  some- 
thing." 

"Ah,  if  that  were  true,"  she  ex- 
claimed, with  growing  passion,  re- 
peating aloud  the  words  the  other 
had  uttered  in  a  low  tone.  "I  am 
becoming  jealous,"  she  said,  with 
humor.  "You  must  come  in  the  car- 
riage with  me,  and  you  also,  De  Lau- 
trec,"  calling  to  the  husband  of  her 
suspected  rival,  so  as  to  be  sure  that 
this  rival,  according  to  the  great  law 
of  separations  of  households,  would 
take  a  place  in  one  of  the  other 
victorias.  This  prudent  ruse  having 
succeeded,  the  amiable  woman  was 
very  gay  during  the  half  hour  which 
the  procession  of  carriages  sent  by 
Lady  Semley  took  to  reach  the 
manor,  a  great,  square,  red  building, 
built  in  the  style  of  the  Tudors,  sur- 
rounded by  thick  foliage  and  luxur- 
iant creeping  vines,  for  which  the 
English  have  such  a  fondness.  The 
guests  thus  made  their  way  toward 
the  peaceful  chateau,  which  could 

82 


THE    SCREEN. 

be  seen  at  the  extremity  of  a  long 
avenue  of  flowering  linden  trees,  the 
perfume  of  which  pervaded  the  air. 
The  one  most  greatly  touched  by 
this  ancient  magnificence  was  An- 
toine  de  Lautrec,  who  exclaimed : 

"If  France  had  not  had  her  Revo- 
lution, we,  too,  should  have  our 
chateaux.  It  is  true,"  he  added, 
sighing,  "that  the  chatelaine  of  this 
castle  is  a  converted  Jewess;  the 
daughter  of  a  banker  of  Hamburg; 
did  you  know  that?" 

"Why  not?"  replied  Emmeline, 
gaily,  who  now,  perfectly  happy,  was 
inhaling  the  voluptuous  perfume  of 
the  lindens.  "Certainly  she  is  a 
Jewess,"  she  continued,  regardless  of 
the  feelings  of  poor  De  Lautrec,  who 
professed  the  anti-semitic  prejudices 
of  a  great  lord  of  today.  Too  well- 
bred  to  be  fanatical,  however,  he 
permitted  himself  to  accept  more 
than  one  invitation  out  of  three  to 
certain  houses.  "I  forget  who 
quoted  to  me  the  other  day  the  fol- 
lowing words  by  Lord  Beaconsfield : 

83 


THE    SCREEN. 

'Jews  in  a  country  are  like  lobsters 
in  the  stomach,  excellent,  provided 
one  can  digest  them.'  Do  you  think 
that  funny?  My  interlocutor  then 
added :  'The  English  digest  all  for- 
eigners, Jews  and  Americans,  Ger- 
mans and  Italians,  and  out  of  them 
lead  a  very  nice  life.  Why  do  you 
not  do  the  same  in  France  with  your 
Israelites?'  And  he  was  right." 

"Besides,"  said  Bertrand,  "with- 
out Lady  Semley's  money  the 
chateau  would  probably  be  in  ruins ; 
what  a  pity !  Hush !  Here  she  is." 

The  slight  and  delicate  object  of 
these  remarks  stood  upon  the  steps 
of  the  noble  old  building,  of  which 
her  fortune  and  marriage  had  made 
her  the  chatelaine.  She  was  a 
woman  of  about  forty  years  of  age, 
with  magnificent  black  eyes  which 
seem  to  burn  with  an  interior 
flame  in  a  long,  hollow  face  that  be- 
trayed its  Oriental  origin.  Her 
father,  a  small  shopkeeper  of  Ham- 
burg, suddenly  became  very  rich,  no 

one  knew  how.     When  he  died  he 
84 


THE    8CREEXT. 

left  twenty  millions,  and  was  the 
father-in-law  of  an  English  lord. 
Her  profile  contrasted  with  the 
building  and  scenery  almost  as  much 
as  with  the  Anglo-Norman  physiog- 
nomy of  Semley,  whose  long  teeth, 
red  whiskers  and  pimpled  skin  re- 
minded one  of  the  caricatures  of  the 
"milord"  in  the  old  vaudevilles.  The 
first  aspect  of  this  house  awaiting  its 
guests  seemed  to  justify  the  opinion 
of  De  Lautrec,  for  he  whispered  to 
Emmelme  as  he  assisted  her  from  the 
carriage : 

"You  can  say  what  you  please,  she 
is  not  to  the  manner  born." 

But  it  was  sufficient  to  have 
passed  the  threshold  of  the  door, 
above  which  was  sculptured  the 
motto  of  the  Semleys :  Perseverando, 
to  realize  that  the  astonishing  intelli- 
gence and  marvelous  adaptability  of 
the  Israelite  race  had  made  of  this 
suffering  and  fragile  creature  a 
proper  guardian  for  the  rare  treas- 
ures amassed  in  this  antique  resi- 
dence by  a  long  line  of  nobles.  She 

85 


THE    SCREEN. 

had  consecrated  the  enormous  for- 
tune inherited  from  her  father  to 
save  from  destruction  and  dispersion 
the  innumerable  relics  of  one  hun- 
dred years  of  aristocracy.  The  chief 
of  the  Semleys  figures  in  that  cele- 
brated "book  of  judgment"  in  which 
William  the  Conqueror  surveyed  and 
established  the  value  of  all  his  vast 
kingdom.  Everywhere  in  the  hall 
where  lions,  tigers  and  deer  killed 
by  the  hunter  were  placed  below 
ancestral  portraits  painted  by  Hol- 
bein, Titian,  Van  Dyck ;  in  the  corri- 
dors where  hung  tapestries  brought 
from  Flanders  at  the  time  of  the 
wars  of  Maryborough ;  in  the  dining- 
room  hung  with  Cordova  leather, 
ordered  in  Spain  by  a  Semley,  once 
ambassador  to  Philippe  II.;  in  the 
drawing-rooms  where  a  Raphael  was 
encircled  by  chefs  d'ceuvres  by  Rey- 
nolds, Romney,  Gainsborough  and 
Lawrence,  one  could  trace  the  gen- 
erations that  had  persevered  for  nine 
hundred  years,  and  the  poor  little 
Jewess,  heiress  of  a  proscribed  and 
86 


THE  SCREEN:- 

persecuted  race,  assimilated  herself 
to  this  opulent  tradition  until  she 
seemed  part  of  it.  By  a  miracle  of 
will,  this  daughter  of  an  Eastern 
tribe  was  so  identified  with  the  place 
and  its  works  of  art  that,  when  dis- 
playing them,  her  thin  face  became 
almost  English.  She  presented,  ac- 
cording to  Lord  Beaconsfield  and 
many  others,  a  striking  proof  of 
what  the  astonishing  British  middle 
classes  can  accomplish  upon  destiny. 
Superficial  as  were  Bertrand 
d'Aydie  and  Mme.  de  Sarlieve  in 
character,  and  although  occupied  by 
their  own  personal  heart  interests, 
they  could  not  help  being  struck  by 
this  singularity  which  recalled  the 
comparison  of  the  author  of  "Lo- 
thalr." 

"Well,  is  the  lobster  sufficiently 
digested?"  said  Emmeline.  She  had 
perpetrated  this  pleasantry  when 
only  a  few  steps  from  her  chamber 
before  dressing  for  dinner,  and, 
throwing  from  her  finger  tips  a  kiss 
to  Alyette,  she  added :  "Antoine  will 

87 


THE    SCREEN. 

explain  that  joke,  and  you  will 
laugh." 

"How  could  Emmeline  think  for  a 
moment  that  I  would  find  wit  in  such 
vulgar  nonsense?"  thought  Mme.  de 
Lautrec,  with  an  annoyance  not  even 
disguised  when  her  husband  ex- 
plained in  a  few  words  this  malicious 
culinary  freak  of  the  ironical 
"Dizzy,"  as  the  faithful  still  call  the 
admirable  Disraeli.  They  were 
standing  in  a  little  boudoir  which 
separated  the  two  bedrooms.  The 
unfortunate  De  Lautrec,  who,  during 
the  past  thirty-six  hours  had  men- 
tally attributed  the  nervousness  of 
his  wife  to  his  own  awkward  speech 
in  regard  to  D'Aydie  and  Mme.  de 
Sarlieve,  thought  himself  sufficiently 
clever  to  revert  to  the  subject  on 
their  drive  from  the  station  to  the 
chateau. 

"It  is  not  unusual,  but  neverthe- 
less Emmeline  seems  particularly 
gay  to-day.  She  is  amused  with  all 
and  everything,  like  a  child.  You 
certainly  had  reason  yesterday  to 

88 


THE    SCREENS 

defend  her  against  my  evil  thoughts. 
I  have  watched  them  both,  and  there 
is  nothing  between  them,  absolutely 
nothing ;  I  would  vouch  for  it  now." 

Alyette  did  not  reply,  but  she 
frowned  slightly,  and  the  speaker 
saw  that  he  had  made  another  mis- 
take when  his  wife  passed  hurriedly 
into  her  chamber. 

"What  have  I  said  now  to  dis- 
please her?"  he  thought.  "One 
would  think  that  she  was  absolutely 
furious  at  my  good  opinion  of 
Emmeline." 

This  time  the  husband  judged 
rightly,  but  how  was  it  possible  for 
him  to  comprehend  the  odd  thoughts 
and  feelings  of  a  jealous  woman,  who 
had  protected  by  her  presence  the 
journey  of  the  two  lovers  seated  face 
to  face  with  each  other?  She  had 
endured,  during  that  half  hour,  bit- 
ter suffering,  a  suffering  without 
parallel,  and  while  her  maid  ar- 
ranged her  hair  and  dressed  her  for 
dinner,  the  first  bell  having  rung, 
varied  thoughts  entered  her  brain, 
88 


THE    SCREEN. 

wounding  her  heart  as  though  it  had 
been  pierced  by  fine  needles,  broken, 
one  after  another,  in  the  wound. 

At  dinner  Bertrand  contrived  to 
be  seated  beside  Emmeline ;  this  was 
still  another  torture.  In  vain 
Ronald  Barrett,  the  yachtsman,  who 
was  seated  beside  her,  was  prodigal 
in  anecdote  regarding  the  regattas 
at  Cowes  and  the  cruising-parties, 
one  of  which  had  been  nothing  less 
than  a  veritable  expedition  to  the 
North  Pole.  Later  on,  when  the 
women  had  returned  to  the  drawing- 
room,  leaving  the  men  to  drink  and 
smoke,  in  vain  Lady  Ardrahan,  Lady 
Helston  and  Lady  Semley,  in  turn, 
sought  to  interest  her,  one  in  the 
hunts  in  which  she  had  taken  part 
the  past  winter,  the  second  in  epi- 
sodes of  the  socialistic  meetings  she 
attended,  and  the  third  in  the  history 
of  the  three  handsomest  Reynolds 
in  the  drawing-room,which  were  sold 
by  the  former  Lord  Semley,  and 
which  she  had  sought  for  every- 
where and  finally  found  in  the 

90 


THE    SCREENS 

United  States  and  re-purchased.  In 
vain,  also,  Emmeline  de  Sarlieve, 
who  was  slightly  troubled  by  this 
visible  anxiety,  approached  her  for 
a  moment,  and  with  a  well-assumed 
simplicity  which  might  have  disarm- 
ed all  suspicion,  said: 

"What  is  the  matter,  Alyette? 
You  seem  so  strange  this  evening,  so 
unlike  yourself." 

"I?"  replied  Mme.  de  Lautrec, 
while  she  lowered  her  quivering  eye- 
lids. "There  is  nothing  the  matter. 
I  have  doubtless  caught  a  slight  cold. 
A  good  night  and  it  will  be  gone." 

"There  is  nothing  the  matter?"  re- 
peated Emmeline,  adding,  coaxing- 
ly:  "You  are  not  annoyed  with  me?" 

"With  you?"  replied  Alyette,  ris- 
ing. "What  do  you  suppose  I  could 
have  against  you?" 

"Bertrand  was  right,"  thought 
Emmeline;  "she  has  not  perhaps 
realized  the  truth,  but  she  suspects." 

"This  time  I  realize  more  fully 
than  ever  that  she  has  lied  to  me," 
murmured  Alyette,  "and  yet  can  it 
91 


TEE    SCREEN. 

be  possible?  If  I  only  had  one  proof, 
only  one  proof;  at  least,  I  would  be 
satisfied.  This  uncertainty  renders 
me  so  wretched." 

The  proof  which  the  jealousy  of 
the  unconscious  love  of  Alyette  im- 
plored, chance  was  about  to  afford 
her  that  very  night,  and  it  would  also 
reveal  to  her  the  hold  that  the  dis- 
creet lover  of  her  cunning  friend  had 
taken  upon  her  soul.  Until  then  she 
not  only  doubted  a  liaison  between 
Emmeline  and  D'Aydie,  but  her  own 
passion  for  the  young  man,  who  had 
led  her  for  some  months  to  play  the 
equivocal  role  of  a  screen  for  his 
love.  The  darkness  of  her  surround- 
ings and  her  own  heart  was  destined 
to  be  lighted  up  suddenly. 

Near  one  o'clock,  not  being  able  to 
sleep,  she  thought  to  while  away  the 
time  by  reading  a  book,  the  words  of 
which,  however,  she  forgot  as  soon  as 
read.  Suddenly  she  thought  she 
heard  footsteps  in  the  hall,  and  that 
the  steps  halted  before  her  door.  She 
sprang  from  her  bed  instinctively, 


THE  SCREEN;- 

and  with  the  precaution  of  the 
guilty,  she,  the  innocent,  turned  the 
key  in  the  door,  opening  it  noiseless- 
ly and  slowly,  but  sufficiently  to 
enable  her  to  see  a  furtive  form  glide 
softly  within  the  opening  of  another 
doorway.  It  was  the  silhouette  of 
Bertrand  d'Aydie,  and  the  door 
through  which  he  passed  was  that  of 
Emmeline  de  Sarlieve. 


V 

Two  Friends 


95 


, 


CHAPTER  V. 
Two  Friends. 

In  the  sudden  substitution  of  abso- 
lute proof  for  certain  suspicions 
there  is  something  both  heart-rend- 
ing and  irreparable.  The  soul  feels 
the  same  shock  as  does  the  flesh  at 
the  contact  of  the  steel  that  mu- 
tilates it;  that  murderous  cold  of 
the  blade  that  seems  about  to  pene- 
trate to  the  centre  of  our  being,  to 
that  vital  spot  which  we  call  life. 
All  jealous  people  have  experienced 
this  frightful  feeling  when,  after 
many  days  or  sometimes  years  and 
after  much  torturing  doubt,  they 
have  at  last  acquired  unquestioning 
proof  of  suspected  treachery. 

To  this  chilling  and  mortal  sorrow 

was,  in  the  case  of  Alyette  de  Lau- 

trec,  added  another.    Unconsciously 

the   woman   had   become   suddenly 

7  97 


THE    SCREEN. 

jealous  to  the  point  of  pain  by  the 
most  casual  revelation.  She  was  also 
a  woman  of  absolute  purity.  Brought 
up  in  the  most  sincere  piety,  her 
imagination,  as  chaste  as  it  was 
romantic,  had  never  allowed  itself, 
since  her  entrance  into  society,  to  be 
as  much  as  grazed  by  anything  un- 
healthy. Her  women  friends  who 
knew  her  to  be  almost  a  prude,  by 
tacit  consent  never  indulged  before 
her  in  those  risque*  conversations 
which,  while  they  do  not  render  a 
woman  less  virtuous,  certainly  rub 
off  a  little  of  the  bloom  of  innocence 
by  initiating  one,  if  only  in  thought, 
in  the  guilty  disorders  of  the  senses. 
For  Alyette,  whose  marriage  had 
been  one  of  interest  only,  the  uni- 
verse of  passionate  love  remained  a 
mystery  that  she  had  scarcely  at- 
tempted to  fathom,  and  it  was  owing 
to  this  virginity  of  soul,  preserved 
by  her  after  marriage,  that  she  had 
found  charm  in  the  constant  reserve  / 
of  Bertrand  d'Aydie  in  his  relations 
with  her.  The  seducer  had  gradu- 

98 


THE    SCREEN.^ 

ally  tamed  her  natural  modesty  by 
treating  her  with  respect.  Atten- 
tions paid  her  behind  which  she  had 
not  only  perceived  but  even  suspect- 
ed the  most  vague  appearance  of 
desire,  would  have  provoked  in  her 
an  immediate  recoil  and  revolt. 

She  had  thus  formed  of  the  young 
man  this  picture  naively  idealized, 
which  alone  permits  the  birth  of  love 
in  women  like  her  whose  unhealthy 
delicacy  revolts  against  exact  knowl- 
edge of  character  and  who  only  ac- 
cept the  realities  of  life  by  ignoring 
them.  These  dreamers  only  take 
pleasure  in  an  indistinct  and  partial 
vision  of  things  and  men.  Are  they 
wrong?  When  you  smell  a  rose  in  a 
bouquet  are  you  not  glad  that  it  is 
separated  from  its  roots,  from  the 
damp  and  black  soil,  from  the  dirt 
in  which  it  grew?  These  beautiful 
and  timid  natures  reason  the  same 
way  with  life.  They  are  tender  and 
chimerical  and  when  a  brutal  inci- 
dent no  longer  permits  the  lie  of 
their  illusion,  when  they  are  com- 

99 


THE   SCREEN. 

pelled  to  see  things  and  men  in  a  way 
that  is  often  crude  and  vulgar  they 
are  seized  with  unbearable  anguish. 
And  in  this  anguish  there  is  every- 
thing, the  humiliating  impression  of 
having  been  duped,  the  crumbling  of 
a  pretty  chateau  of  dreams,  in  which 
they  had  taken  refuge.  There  is, 
more  especially,  something  akin  to  a 
contagion  of  disgrace.  Certain 
secrets  once  discovered  soil  the  mind 
where  they  are  deposited.  What  we 
know  of  shameful  things  in  a  sense 
forms  part  of  ourselves  and  our  in- 
dignation against  certain  images  de- 
files the  mind,  by  forcing  us  to  con- 
template them  and  feel  them  in  a 
sinister  way,  hideously  real.  Alyette 
was  intended  never  to  cease  being 
virtue  and  goodness  in  the  form  of 
woman,  but  she  could  never  forget 
that  half-lighted  corridor  of  the 
country  house,  that  silence  of  the 
night,  that  mystery  where  every- 
thing pointed  to  danger,  the  young 
man  hastening  to  his  rendezvous, 
doubly  criminal  since  the  lover  be- 
100 


THE    SCREEN. 

trayed  the  confidence  of  a  man 
whose  hand  he  grasped,  Emmeline's 
husband — since  he  betrayed  her  own 
(Alyette's)  confidence,  to  whom  his 
attitude  had  made  her  think  that  he 
loved  her. 

The  night  that  followed  this  dis- 
covery was  a  frightful  ordeal  for 
Alyette  de  Lautrec.  When  she  saw 
Bertrand  disappear  through  the 
door  of  Mme.  de  Sarlieve's  chamber 
she  was  seized  with  a  violent  tremb- 
ling and  was  obliged  to  seat  herself, 
not  having  the  strength  to  close  the 
door.  "He  is  her  lover,  her  lover," 
she  repeated  again  and  again.  Com- 
pletely overcome  by  her  emotion  and 
blinded  by  her  tears,  she  crept  to  her 
bed,  and,  throwing  herself  upon  it, 
exclaimed,  through  sobs: 

"How  they  have  lied  to  me !  How 
they  have  lied  to  me!" 

The  frightful  night,  during  each 
hour  of  which  she  heard  every  move- 
ment of  the  pendulum  of  the  clock, 
and  the  least  sound  that  broke  the 
stillness,  finally  passed.  Morning 
101 


THE    SCREEN. 

came,  and  she  must  again  meet  Em- 
meline.  She  must  listen  to  her  famil- 
iar speech ;  she  must  meet  her  with- 
out embarrassment,  and  must  permit 
her  to  kiss  her  as  usual!  The  mere 
thought  of  this  kiss  was  intolerable 
to  the  pure,  honest  woman  to  such  a 
degree  that  she  cried  aloud:  "That? 
No ;  never,  never !" 

And  he,  Bertrand;  she  must  meet 
him  again  and  once  more  submit  to 
the  abominable  perfidy  of  his  gaze, 
which  had  always  been  so  tender.  He 
would  envelop  her  with  that  mute 
contemplation,  by  which,  secretly, 
and  almost  without  being  aware  of 
it,  she  had  been  deceived. 

She  suffered  from  his  treason  be- 
cause, she  now  realized,  she  loved 
him!  The  discovery  overwhelmed 
her  with  remorse  and  anguish. 

Realizing  that,  moved  by  such  feel- 
ings, she  could  not  in  the  presence 
of  Emmeline  and  Bertrand  preserve 
the  only  attitude  consonant  with  her 
dignity,  she  determined  to  remain  in 

her  room  throughout  the  day  with 
102 


THE    SCREENS 

the  curtains  of  her  window  lowered, 
pleading  a  headache  as  a  reason  why 
she  could  receive  no  one.  There, 
alone  in  her  chamber,  she  implored 
God  to  grant  her  the  strength  to  bear 
this  cross,  or  in  any  case,  to  do  her 
duty.  It  was  Sunday.  They  had 
been  told  the  night  before  that  a  car- 
riage would  take  Emnieline  and  her- 
self to  the  Catholic  church,  which 
was  situated  some  miles  distant  from 
the  Manor ;  but  to  go  to  church  thus 
accompanied,  Alyette  had  not  the 
strength.  To  have  attended  mass 
would  have  been  a  real  help  to  her, 
but  to  listen  to  the  service  with  that 
woman  beside  her  was  impossible 
for  her. 

When  De  Lautrec,  whom  Alyette 
had  commissioned  to  make  her  ex- 
cuses for  her  absence,  appeared  at 
breakfast,  there  were  in  the  dining- 
room  only  Mme.  de  Sarlieve  and 
D'Aydie.  Their  feverish  gaiety  sud- 
denly ceased  when  the  new  arrival 
said  i;o  them: 

"Poor  Alyette  is  not  well.    She  has 

103 


THE    SCREEN. 

one  of  those  bad  sick-headaches  from 
which  she  suffers  so  much.  I  do  not 
think  she  will  be  able  to  quit  her 
room  to-day." 

"And  I  did  not  go  and  kiss  her  this 
morning,  thinking  to  let  her  sleep," 
said  Emmeline.  "I  will  go  at  once 
and  keep  her  company." 

"I  thank  you  for  her  for  the  kind 
thought,"  said  De  Lautrec,  "but  she 
told  me  that  she  would  receive  no 
one.  She  wishes,  if  possible,  to 
sleep." 

"Does  not  this  sudden  indisposi- 
tion render  you  anxious?"  asked 
Bertrand  of  Emmeline,  later,  when 
breakfast  was  finished  and  they 
found  themselves  again  tete-a-tete  in 
the  park  and  turned  to  look  at  the 
closed  windows  of  Alyette's  room. 

"Why  should  it?"  said  Mme.  de 
Sarlieve.  "Alyette  is  delicate,  and 
these  fifteen  days  in  London  have 
fatigued  her ;  that  is  all.  What  else 
could  be  the  matter?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Bertrand. 
"Tt  seems  to  me  that,  in  speaking  to 

104 


THE  SCREEN:- 

you,  De  Lautrec  was  somewhat  em- 
barrassed, as  though  his  wife  had 
insisted  that  she  was  unwilling  to 
receive  YOU  particularly." 

"Me!"  exclaimed  Emmeline,  "for 
what  reason?" 

"Well,"  replied  the  young  man, 
with  hesitation,  blushing  slightly,  "if 
she  knew  all,  if  by  chance  she  sur- 
prised our  rendezvous  last  night — " 

He  looked  about  him  anxiously  as 
he  said  this,  as  though  alarmed  by 
the  glance  his  companion  fixed  upon 
him. 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Emmeline,  after 
a  short  silence ;  "suppose  she  did ;  it 
is  I  who  would  be  affected  by  that. 
I,  and  not  you — unless,"  she  con- 
tinued in  a  singularly  deep  tone  of 
voice,  "there  is  something  between 
you  which  I  do  not  suspect." 

"Between  her  and  me?"  interrupt- 
ed D'Aydie,  quickly.  "You  know 
very  well  that  Mme.  de  Lautrec  is 
above  suspicion.  You  know  how 
proud  she  is,  how  pure  she  is,  and 

105 


THE    SCREEN. 

how  I  respect  her — but  what  is  the 
matter  with  you?" 

"The  matter  with  me?"  said  Em- 
meline,  her  cheeks  flushed,  in  turn. 
"I  admire  the  delicacy  with  which 
you  make  me  feel  the  distance  you 
place  between  her  and  me.  Why  is 
she  proud?  Why  is  she  pure?  Why 
is  she  respected  by  you?  Simply 
because  she  is  incapable  of  the 
courage  of  her  sentiments  and  of 
making  any  sacrifices  for  love,  as  I 
have  done.  Ah,  I  see  clearly  now. 
There  is  a  spirit  of  coquetry  in  the 
saint,  and  she  is  in  a  good  way  to 
steal  your  heart  from  me.  If  this 
is  not  true,  why  do  you  tremble  at 
the  mere  thought  that  she  knows  of 
our  love?" 

"My  dear,  how  unjust  you  have 
become  to  your  poor  friend,"  he  re- 
plied, in  a  soft  voice,  in  which  there 
was  the  touch  of  a  caress.  He  was 
not  playing  a  part  at  this  moment. 
He  felt  that  she  suffered,  and  he 
pitied  her;  moreover,  he  did  not 
wish  her  to  know  that  there  was  a 

106 


THE    SCREEN. 

basis  of  truth  in  her  words.  "Can 
you  not  understand,"  he  continued, 
persuasively,  "that  in  all  this  I  see 
only  you — I  think  only  of  you,  and  I 
say  to  myself,  'If  Mme.  de  Lautrec 
has  surprised  our  secret,  she  will  not 
protect  our  love  as  she  has  done  here- 
tofore?' Your  husband  is  already 
jealous.  You  have  acknowledged 
this  yourself.  You  found  his  manner 
peculiar  when  he  inquired  day  before 
yesterday  where  you  had  passed  the 
morning.  As  to  myself,  I  have  al- 
ways held  the  opinion  that  De  Lau- 
trec told  him  about  our  promenade 
in  the  park.  If  we  do  not  see  each 
other  any  more  at  Alyette's,  when 
and  where  are  we  to  meet?  This  is 
what  torments  me.  You  will  under- 
stand now  why  I  have  reason  to  wish 
that  she  may  not  suspect." 

"How  good  you  are  to  have  spoken 
to  me  thus,"  she  replied,  her  suspi- 
cions laid  at  rest  for  the  time.  "Your 
words  are  a  comfort  to  me.  Let  come 
what  will,  so  that  you  love  me,  noth- 
ing can  happen  to  mar  my  happiness 

107 


THE    SCREEN. 

while  I  have  your  love.  This  after- 
noon the  siege  will  be  raised  and  I 
shall  see  Alyette.  I  shall  know  what 
to  say  to  her,  I  promise  you,  else  my 
name  is  no  longer  Emmeline." 

Emmeline  was  destined  to  lose 
confidence  in  herself  because  of  the 
persistency  of  Mine,  de  Lautrec,  who 
refused  to  receive  her — a  refusal  re- 
peated three  times.  How  was  it  pos- 
sible not  to  recognize  in  this  refusal 
a  resolution  to  be  explained  only  in 
a  knowledge  of  a  recent  event?  What 
event?  What  circumstance  could 
exercise  such  an  influence  if  not  that 
which  Bertrand  had  suggested  as 
possible,  namely,  that  Alyette  had 
discovered  their  nocturnal  rendez- 
vous? Emmeline  was  too  intelligent 
and  had  too  just  an  appreciation  of 
her  position  not  to  perceive  the  peril- 
ous consequences  which  might  follow 
upon  such  a  discovery.  She  knew 
Mme.  de  Lautrec  to  be  incapable  of 
betraying  the  terrible  secret,  but  she 
also  knew  her  to  be  incapable  of 
voluntarily  screening  such  an  ad- 

108 


THE    SCREEN^ 

venture.  Besides,  she  had  suspected 
for  some  time  that  her  friend  had  not 
remained  entirely  insensible  to  the 
respectful  adoration  so  traitorously 
bestowed  upon  her  by  D'Aydie. 
Under  these  conditions,  this  discov- 
ery would  result  in  a  certain  rupture 
between  the  two  women.  How  was 
she  to  explain  this  change  in  their 
friendship  to  De  Sarlieve?  What 
could  she  invent  to  justify  a  quarrel 
with  her  most  intimate  friend?  How, 
also,  was  she  to  continue  her  liaison 
with  Bertrand  without  the  uncon- 
scious co-operation  of  the  screen- 
friend?  Her  uneasiness  was  height- 
ened when,  on  the  following  morn- 
ing, she  heard  De  Lautrec  say: 

"Alyette  is  still  so  greatly  fatigued 
that  it  will  be  impossible  for  her  to 
go  by  the  noon  train." 

"I  begin  to  think  you  have  guessed 
rightly,"  she  said  to  D'Aydie  when 
they  were  seated,  side  by  side,  in  the 
return  train.  "Evidently  she  did  not 
wish  to  take  the  same  train  with  us." 

"What  can   we  do?"  asked  the 

109 


THE   SCREEN. 

young  man,  with  an  anxious  look  in 
his  eyes  that  called  forth  this  reply : 

"I  am  for  frankness.  I  will  play 
my  cards  openly.  If  she  knows  that 
you  are  my  lover  she  will  accept  you 
as  such,  or  I  shall  never  see  her 
again." 

"And  your  husband?" 

"That  is  my  affair,"  she  replied, 
gazing  at  him  with  a  penetrating 
glance.  "Do  not  fail  me,"  she  added. 
"If  I  have  you,  I  have  all  I  ask." 

When  she  left  the  train  at  Pad- 
dington  Station,  her  course  was  plan- 
ned. There  must  be  a  definite  ex- 
planation with  Mme.  de  Lautrec. 
She  had  determined  to  learn  beyond 
a  doubt  if  she  had,  or  had  not, 
reason  to  fear  that  Alyette  would 
take  her  lover  from  her. 

The  explanation  which  she  de- 
sired, and  which  she  hoped  to  bring 
about  speedily,  owing  to  the  proxim- 
ity of  their  rooms  in  the  hotel,  did 
not  take  place  until  Tuesday  at  noon, 
more  than  twenty-four  hours  after 

the  return   of   Alyette,   who   until 
no 


TEE    SCREEN^ 

then  could  not  find  courage  to  meet 
her  perfidious  friend.  When  Emme- 
line  entered  the  little  boudoir  on  the 
first  floor  occupied  by  her  whom  she 
now  named  only  her  rival,  she  real- 
ized that  she  was  about  to  enter  upon 
a  difficult  struggle.  She  had  pre- 
pared for  an  interview  which  she 
realized  fully  would  be  either  for 
"peace  or  for  war."  She  anticipated 
at  first  a  scene  of  indignation  and 
lofty  virtue,  and  she  was  surprised 
and  disconcerted  when  she  entered 
to  find,  half  extended  upon  a  reclin- 
ing chair,  a  woman  overcome  by  suf- 
fering, her  face  deathly  pale,  and  her 
eyes  drooping  and  full  of  weariness, 
who  greeted  her  with  a  forced  smile 
and  acted  as  though  she  knew  noth- 
ing. That  she  in  reality  knew  all 
Emmeline  read  in  her  eyes  and  in 
her  effort  to  smile,  in  her  colorless 
lips,  from  wrhich  she  had  expected 
reproach.  Although  she  understood 
that  Mme.  de  Lautrec  did  not  desire 
to  speak  of  what  she  had  discovered, 

and  after  two  or  three  words  had 
ill 


TEE    SCREEN. 

been  spoken  she  looked  at  Mme.  de 
Lautrec  fixedly  and  said,  abruptly: 

"You  love  me  but  little?" 

"I?"  said  Alyette,  her  eyelids 
trembling  with  repressed  feeling. 
She  understood  that  her  companion 
was  about  to  impose  upon  her  the  ex- 
planation she  had  hoped  to  avoid. 

"Yes,  you,"  continued  Emmeline, 
"since  you  can  cherish  in  your  heart 
what  is  now  there.  Do  you  think  I 
have  not  understood  since  Sunday 
that  you  do  not  wish  to  see  me,  that 
your  sickness  was  assumed,  and  that 
the  reason — shall  I  tell  you?  Shall 
I?" 

"If  you  know  it,"  said  Mme.  de 
Lautrec,  in  a  faint  voice,  after  a 
moment  of  terrible  silence.  She  was 
incapable  of  uttering  a  lie,  and 
although  this  brutal  attack  pained 
her  greatly,  she  repeated  the  words, 
"If  you  know,  you  should  also  know 
that  I  have  loved  you  dearly  and 
that  I  give  you  a  sure  proof  in  im- 
ploring you  to  be  silent.  I  may  de- 
112 


THE    SCREEN.  s 

sire  to  ignore  certain  things.  Know- 
ing them,  I  could  not  accept  them — " 

"I,  on  the  contrary,  will  not  be 
silent,"  interrupted  Emmeline.  "I 
cannot  submit  to  be  treated  thus  by 
a  real  friend  such  as  you.  It  is  true," 
she  continued,  with  heat,  "I  have  a 
lover.  You  have  suspected  us;  you 
have  spied  upon  us.  Let  me  speak," 
she  insisted,  as  Alyette  made  a  gest- 
ure of  denial.  "In  any  case,  you  sur- 
prised us.  You  have  my  secret.  You 
now  know  me  fully,  with  all  that  the 
prejudice  of  the  world  applies  to  my 
fault;  with  what  I  call  my  great 
happiness  and  my  pride.  If  you  can 
accept  me  thus,  tell  me  frankly.  You 
owe  this  to  our  friendship." 

"Do  not  speak  of  our  friendship," 
said  Alyette,  who  by  the  words  of 
the  excited  woman  had  been  wound- 
ed deeply.  "As  for  the  rest,  I  am  not 
your  judge,  but  that — ,  yes,  that  is 
the  saddest  part  of  all, — I  was  your 
friend.  I  placed  in  you  a  tender  and 
entire  confidence,  full  of  devotion. 
What  have  you  done  with  that  confi- 

8  113 


THE    SCREEN. 

dence?  Do  you  think  I  have  forgot- 
ten all  that  you  said  to  me,  and  that 
I  do  not  now  understand  the  dupli- 
city practiced  upon  me?  What  part 
did  you  play  with  that  friendship? 
What  comedy  did  you  both  play 
around  me,  a  comedy  that  would 
have  continued  if  chance  had  not 
made  everything  known  to  me?  It 
is  frightful ;  it  is  frightful !" 

As  she  spoke,  tears  gathered  in  her 
eyes  and  fell  upon  her  cheeks.  Her 
reproach  had  been  so  touching  that 
Emmeline  instinctively,  by  a  caress- 
ing gesture,  took  her  handkerchief 
to  wipe  the  tears  away,  saying: 

"Do  not  weep,  I  implore  you  not  to 
weep." 

Mme.  de  Lautrec  was  seated,  but 
she  arose  suddenly,  with  a  gesture 
full  of  aversion,  which  did  not  escape 
her  friend.  The  perfume  with  which 
the  little  square  of  cambric  was  im- 
pregnated was  exquisitely  delicate, 
and  it  was  that  which  Emmeline 
used  always.  It  was  a  voluptuous 
mingling  of  perfumes,  and  seemed 

114 


THE    SCREEN.  - 

to  exhale  the  sensual  influence  of 
the  living  flower  of  love  and  youth 
which  was  realized  in  the  beautiful 
woman.  Alyette  remembered  that 
with  this  delicious  aroma  the  kisses 
of  D'Aydie  had  mingled,  and  in 
her  movement  Emmeline  read  her 
thoughts. 

"I  fill  you  with  horror,"  she  said ; 
then,  after  a  moment  of  hesitation, 
she  said,  her  eyes  full  of  passionate 
light  and  her  voice  trembling  with 
curiosity  and  cruelty:  "Acknowl- 
edge, then,  that  you  love  him,  too!" 

She  checked  herself.  The  pallor 
of  Alyette  had  become  livid.  Emme- 
line saw,  with  astonishment,  that, 
pressing  her  hands  against  her  heart 
as  though  it  had  been  pierced  by  an 
insupportable  pain,  she  leaned 
against  the  table  for  support,  that 
she  might  not  fall.  It  was  but  the 
weakness  of  a  moment,  and  Mme.  de 
Lautrec,  reseating  herself,  said : 

"Be  silent  and  go,  I  implore  you ; 
I  command  you.  Go — yet  no,  I  still 
implore  you.  If  you  have  ever  been 

115 


THE    SCREEN. 

my  friend,  go.  Another  time  we 
shall  speak  of  this.  I  will  be  more 
calm.  I  will  do  Avhat  I  can  that  no 
one  may  suspect  that  which  has 
transpired  between  us.  At  this 
moment  this  scene  is  too  painful  for 
me."  Then,  with  a  sudden  outburst, 
she  uttered  a  cry,  "Unhappy  woman, 
go,  leave  me.  Go!  Do  you  not  see 
that  you  are  killing  me?" 

Her  small  hands  were  clasped 
convulsively  and  again  pressed  to 
her  bosom  as  though  to  still  the 
throbbing  of  her  heart.  Her  every 
action  expressed  her  grief,  and  she 
was  so  visibly  at  the  end  of  her 
strength,  and  so  completely  did  the 
troubled  soul  implore  pity  for  the 
bleeding  wound  within  her  heart, 
that,  despite  herself,  Emmeline  obey- 
ed. She  beheld  her  work  and  that 
of  Bertrand,  and  for  the  first  time 
she  was  filled  with  fear. 


118 


VI 

The  Unexpected 


117 


CHAPTER  VI. 
The  Unexpected. 

The  pity  of  a  woman  for  the  pas- 
sion of  a  rival  never  lasts  very  long. 
It  is  not  only  statesmen  who  practice 
the  immoral  but  wTise  maxim,  "Beati 
possidentes"  If,  then,  Mme.  de 
Lautrec  had  experienced  this  sudden 
impulse  of  remorse  in  the  presence 
of  the  martyrdom  of  Alyette,  she 
soon  returned  to  the  consideration  of 
self;  she  concluded,  first,  that  the 
material  difficulties  of  her  position 
would  be  less  formidable  than  she 
had  thought;  in  the  next  place,  she 
realized  that,  at  all  costs,  she  must 
prevent  Bertrand  from  divining  the 
deep  love  he  had  inspired  in  Mme. 
de  Lautrec. 

"She  will  not  make  a  scandal," 
she  said  to  herself,  after  mature 
reflection  in  her  drawing-room,  be- 

119 


TEE    SCREEN. 

low  which,  at  this  instant,  her  victim 
sobbed.  "As  to  him,  it  will  be  some- 
what difficult  to  hide  the  truth.  But 
I  shall  find  a  way." 

Half  an  hour  passed,  during  which 
she  was  plunged  in  thought,  her  face 
pressed  close  to  the  window  pane, 
gazing  without,  yet  seeing  nothing. 
Suddenly  the  door  of  the  room  was 
thrown  open,  and  she  started  like  a 
person  awakened  from  a  deep  sleep. 

"Ah,  is  that  you,  Guy?"  she  ex- 
claimed, recognizing  her  husband. 
"You  startled  me." 

"You  were  so  completely  absorbed 
just  now,"  replied  De  Sarlieve,  "that 
you  did  not  see  me  pass  on  the  side- 
walk. Are  you  expecting  any  one?" 

He  said  this  in  a  peculiar  tone. 
His  wife  looked  at  him.  She  saw  at  a 
glance,  she  who  knew  him  so  well,  that 
he  was  a  prey  to  an  extraordinary 
excitement.  She  saw  that  he  held  in 
his  hand  an  envelope,  the  shape  and 
paper  of  which  she  recognized  even 
before  she  had  seen  the  address.  The 

letter  was  from  D'Aydie,  the  seal  not 
120 


THE    SCREEN.  - 

broken.  The  lovers  ordinarily  wrote 
but  little,  as  they  saw  each  other  so 
often.  When  they  did  write,  it  was 
almost  always  freely.  Until  these 
last  few  days  they  had  been  sure  of 
their  surroundings,  and  therefore 
tranquil.  Never  had  De  Sarlieve  ex- 
amined a  single  letter  received  by  his 
wife.  Emmeline  understood  instant- 
ly what  had  transpired.  Bertrand, 
anxious  to  know  how  the  interview 
between  the  two  women  had  termi- 
nated, and  not  daring  to  call,  fearing 
to  meet  Mme.  de  Lautrec,  had  sent 
her  a  letter,  without  suspecting  that 
it  would  be  intercepted.  What  did 
the  note  contain?  In  this  uncer- 
tainty Emmeline  felt  herself  tremble 
to  the  very  roots  of  her  pretty  blond 
hair,  while  the  expression  of  the  face 
of  her  husband  filled  her  with  fear. 
De  Sarlieve  was,  as  a  rule,  careless 
and  indifferent,  but  when  aroused 
was  implacable  and  even  savage  in 
his  anger,  and  the  manner  in  which 
he  handed  his  wife  the  letter  alone 
121 


THE    SCREEN. 

proved  that  it  was  difficult  that  he 
retained  command  of  himself. 

"Here  is  a  letter  for  you,  my  dear," 
he  said,  with  repressed  passion.  "I 
found  it  below  just  as  they  were  go- 
ing to  bring  it  to  you.  As  I  was 
about  to  see  you,  I  took  charge  of  it." 

"Thanks,"  replied  Emmeline.  As 
she  spoke  she  took  the  envelope,  and, 
without  opening  it,  laid  it  upon  the 
table  near  her,  after  glancing  at  the 
address.  "It  is  nothing ;  only  a  word 
from  Bertrand  d'Aydie.  I  have 
plenty  of  time  to  read  it.  Have  you 
the  theatre  box  for  this  evening?" 

"Yes,"  replied  De  Sarlieve,"!  have 
the  box,  but  I  beg  that  you  will  not 
disturb  yourself  for  me.  Read  your 
letter." 

"I  have  plenty  of  time,"  she  said. 
"You  will  invite  the  Semleys,  will 
you  not?" 

"I  have  told  you  to  read  your  let- 
ter," replied  the  husband,  without 
answering  his  wife's  question. 

"My  letter,"  she  said,  with  a  light 
laugh.    "Why  this  insistence?" 
122 


THE    SCREENS 

"Why?"  replied  the  jealous  man, 
in  a  tone  full  of  cold  determination, 
which  contracted  the  heart  of  his 
listener,  "because  I  wish  to  know 
what  this  D'Aydie  has  written.  That 
is  all."  For  an  instant  he  was  silent ; 
then,  striking  the  floor  with  his  foot, 
he  said:  "I  will  not  deceive  you, 
Emmeline.  There  is  in  your  rela- 
tions with  that  man  something  I 
cannot  understand,  which  troubles 
me  and  renders  rne  anxious." 

"What,  you  are  jealous?"  she  had 
the  courage  to  say.  "You  are  jeal- 
ous, and  jealous  of  D'Aydie?" 

She  laughed  loudly  and  shrugged 
her  shoulders,  but  a  cold  perspira- 
tion, caused  by  fear,  covered  her. 
What  would  become  of  her  and  how 
was  she  to  escape  from  opening  the 
envelope?  What  if  the  note  com- 
menced, as  was  more  than  probable, 
with  words  of  endearment? 

"Well,"  he  replied  in  a  domineer- 
ing tone,  "admit  that  I  am  jealous 
and  that  this  jealousy  is  ridiculous. 
You  can  easily  end  the  matter,  once 

123 


THE   SCREEN. 

and  for  all.  Open  the  letter  and 
show  it  to  me.  I  could  have  opened 
it  myself,  but  I  did  not,  because  I 
do  not  consider  that  I  have  the  right 
to  inflict  such  an  affront  upon  you. 
/  wish,  however,  to  read  that  letter. 
Do  you  hear?  I  am  forced  to  read  it 
in  order  to  cast  from  me  this  fright- 
ful suspicion." 

As  he  said  this,  he  struck  his 
breast  with  his  closed  fist  so  fiercely 
that  Emmeline  shuddered.  She 
seemed  to  feel  upon  her  shoulder  and 
around  her  neck  the  clasp  of  the 
hard,  square  fingers  of  this  man,  for 
she  was  convinced  that,  if  he  knew 
the  truth,  he  was  capable  of  strang- 
ling her  then  and  there.  She  was 
lost!  It  was  impossible  to  destroy 
the  letter.  The  very  act  would  be 
an  acknowledgment.  Should  she  run 
the  risk,  hoping,  after  all,  that  the 
note  would  contain  nothing  to  reveal 
the  truth,  and  then  say  to  her  hus- 
band, "Read"?  This  bold  thought 
entered  her  mind  for  a  second,  but 
she  realized  that  such  a  course  would 
124 


TEE    SCREEN.^ 

be  impossible.  Circumstanced  as 
they  were,  Bertrand  had  certainly 
made  some  mention  of  the  subject 
that  occupied  their  thoughts.  He 
had  certainly  mentioned  the  dis- 
covery of  their  intrigue.  No ;  to  run 
such  a  risk  would  be  too  terrible. 
Emmeline  dared  not. 

Suddenly  the  thought  of  Alyette 
entered  her  mind.  One  last  resource 
was  open  to  her  by  which  to  gain 
time.  In  a  flash  she  found  a  means. 
Bertrand  must  at  all  cost  escape 
from  his  hotel  and  place  some  hours 
of  reflection  between  himself  and  De 
Sarlieve.  This  little  woman,  with 
her  rosy  cheeks  and  doll-like  face  of 
the  eighteenth  century,  had  also  the 
astonishing  boldness,  presence  of 
mind  and  intrepid  cunning  of  that 
century.  She  had  conceived  the  only 
possible  manner  by  which  she  could 
assure  the  flight  of  Bertrand,  so  she 
turned  to  her  husband  and  said : 

"Suppose  I  am  not  willing  to  open 
this  letter?  What  if  I  myself  have 
not  the  right?"  Then,  with  an  effort 

125 


THE    SCREEN. 

in  which  the  anxiety  evident  was  at 
least  not  assumed,  she  added :  "If,  in 
fact,  it  is  not  for  me?" 

"If  it  is  not  for  you?"  replied  De 
Sarlieve,  in  a  tone  of  irony,  in  which 
repressed  passion  trembled.  "There 
is,  then,  another  Countess  Guy  de 
Sarlieve  in  this  hotel?  You  do  not 
wish  to  read  the  letter?  Then  I  will 
break  th,e  seal  myself.  You  will 
bear  witness  that  you  forced  me  to  do 
so." 

As  he  spoke  he  extended  his  hand 
to  take  the  letter.  The  courageous 
woman  handed  it  to  him  calmly.  It 
was  the  only  way  to  make  her  hus- 
band hesitate  and  to  gain  time  to 
speak  to  him.  In  a  tone  which  no 
longer  trembled  she  said: 

"The  letter  is  not  for  me."  The 
words  were  spoken  with  decision. 
"It  is  addressed  to  me,  but  there  is 
a  certain  sign  which  tells  me  that  I 
am  to  deliver  it  to  another  with  the 
seal  unbroken.  Do  you  not  now 
understand?  Why  force  me  to  be- 
tray a  secret  not  mine?" 

126 


THE    SCREEN.  s 

"Then,"  said  De  Sarlieve,  empha- 
sizing his  words,  "you  pretend  that 
this  letter  bears  an  understood  mark 
which  permits  you  to  recognize  that 
it  is  not  for  you,  but  that  you  are  to 
deliver  it  to  another  for  whom  it  is 
intended?  In  other  words,  you  lend 
your  name  to  the  complicity  of  an 
intrigue.  This  is  a  wrong  toward 
me,  for  it  is  my  name  you  bear." 
His  irony  became  more  bitter.  "To 
say  the  least,  I  am  entitled  to  know 
who  the  person  is  whose  interests 
you  serve  through  this  sign,  and  also 
what  he  writes  under  cover  to  you." 

"You  compel  me,"  interrupted 
Emmeline  quickly,  for  she  saw  that 
he  was  about  to  break  the  seal.  "The 
sign  is  the  seal.  The  person  to  whom 
it  is  in  reality  addressed  is — "  then, 
in  a  low  voice,  as  though  ashamed 
of  her  treachery  toward  her  friend, 
she  added — "is  Alyette." 

De  Sarlieve  gazed  at  her  fixedly 
and  then  at  the  envelope.  On  the  wax 
of  the  seal  was  the  imprint  of  an 
antique  stone  given  by  the  young 

127 


THE    SCREEN. 

woman  to  her  lover  to  use  always  in 
writing  to  her.  It  was  simply  a 
head,  a  profile  with  wings  in  the 
hair.  The  singularity  of  this  em- 
blem on  the  letter  of  the  gay  young 
Parisian  gave  the  semblance  of  truth 
to  the  extraordinary  lie.  De  Sarlieve 
was  literally  stupefied.  Eighty  men 
out  of  a  hundred  would  have  said,  in 
his  place,  that  which  he  said  to  him- 
self:  "Such  things  are  not  invented; 
no  one  would  dare  to  invent  them." 
But  this  rough,  heavy  fellow  had  the 
logic  of  jealousy,  the  logic  that  de- 
mands proof,  and  he  replied : 

"Then  you  pretend  to  say  that 
Alyette  de  Lautrec  depends  upon 
you  to  receive  D'Aydie's  letters? 
That  means  that  she  has  an  intrigue 
with  him  and  that  De  Lautrec  is  jeal- 
ous?" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  scarcely 
sufficiently  audible  to  utter  the  lie. 
"But  what  are  you  doing?"  she  add- 
ed quickly. 

"I  am  ringing  the  bell,"  he  replied, 
"to  know  if  she  is  at  home." 

128 


THE    SCREEN.  s 

That  which  Emmeline  had  deemed 
possible,  without  truly  daring  to 
hope  for,  was  realized.  Her  husband 
was  about  to  descend  to  Alyette's 
apartment  and  leave  her  some  min- 
utes for  flight. 

"Listen  to  me,  Guy;  you  are  mad. 
You  cannot  do  this,  you  cannot  do 
this!"  she  cried,  throwing  herself 
before  him  after  the  servant  had  re- 
turned with  the  reply  that  Mme.  de 
Lautrec  was  in  the  hotel.  "Open  the 
letter  rather  than  that ;  read  the  con- 
tents and  then  destroy  it.  Alyette 
will  never  know  that  you  have  read 
it.  You  will  thus  obtain  your  proof, 
and  she  cannot  accuse  me  of  having 
betrayed  her." 

"No,"  replied  De  Sarlieve ;  "I  will 
not  commit  such  an  outrage.  I  wish 
to  know  the  truth,  but  without  being 
dishonorable.  You  have  said  that 
this  letter  is  for  Mme.  de  Lautrec.  I 
am  going  to  see  if  you  have  lied. 
Since  she  makes  use  of  my  name  I 
have  the  right  to  speak  to  her,  and 
that  right  I  propose  to  exercise." 

9  129 


THE    SCREEN. 

"You  have  strength  on  your  side," 
she  said,  as  he  forced  the  door  open. 
After  he  had  quitted  the  room,  she 
ran  to  her  bed  chamber  and  placed 
in  a  little  bag  a  handful  of  jewels  and 
a  bundle  of  bank  notes.  Then,  with- 
out even  taking  time  to  tie  her  veil 
beneath  her  hat,  she  descended  the 
staircase  as  fast  as  the  remnant  of 
strength  left  to  her  would  permit. 
Having  reached  the  square,  she  hail- 
ed a  cab,  giving  the  coachman  the 
address  of  Bertrand  d'Aydie's  hotel. 
As  the  carriage  rolled  off  she  ex- 
claimed : 

"What  an  adventure !  How  rapid- 
ly catastrophe  follows  catastrophe." 

As  she  said  this  she  shuddered. 

"Now  he  is  questioning  Alyette. 
In  a  few  minutes  more  he  will  return 
to  our  rooms  and  will  not  find  me. 
His  first  thought  will  be  to  seek 
D'Aydie.  My  God!  grant  that  Ber- 
trand may  not  have  gone  out.  Time, 
time,  to  gain  time  is  everything.  At 
first  Guy  will  think  only  of  his  ven- 
geance. In  twenty-four  hours  he  will 

130 


THE    SCREEN. 

think  of  the  scandal.  Oh,  does  Ber- 
trand  love  me  as  much  as  he  has 
said?  I  shall  know.  But  what  an 
adventure!  And  Alyette?  Ah,  well, 
Alyette  is  no  doubt  telling  at  this 
instant  that  the  letter  is  not  intended 
for  her.  She  will  tell  all  she  knows ; 
she  will  be  avenged,  and  we  shall  be 
quits.  I  would,  nevertheless,  like  to 
see  them  both  face  to  face." 

The  immoral,  but  courageous, 
fugitive  could  not  help  smiling  at 
the  idea  of  the  meeting  between  the 
two  dupes.  She  seized  in  spite  of 
herself  the  ludicrous  side  of  the  situ- 
ation. She  pictured  the  scene,  with- 
out the  least  suspecting  what  was 
actually  transpiring  in  Alyette's  lit- 
tle drawing-room. 

When  Guy  de  Sarlieve  was  an- 
nounced Mme.  de  Lautrec  was  still 
overwhelmed  by  the  emotions  arous- 
ed by  the  cruel  interview  with 
Emmeline.  The  expression  of  De 
Sarlieve's  face  as  he  entered  with 
the  letter  in  his  hand  at  once  aroused 
her  fears  for  Bertrand,  whose  hand- 

131 


THE    SCREEN. 

writing  she  recognized.  De  Sarlieve 
said: 

"You  will  excuse  me,  dear 
Madame,  for  disturbing  you  in  spite 
of  being  aware  that  you  are  suffer- 
ing. My  apology  is  that  I  have  a 
pressing  message  for  you.  I  took  it 
upon  myself  to  deliver  to  you  this 
letter  in  person." 

"This  letter?"  she  said,  astonished. 
"This  letter  is  not  for  me,"  were  the 
words  that  rose  to  her  lips.  Her 
gaze,  as  she  was  about  to  utter  them, 
fell  upon  De  Sarlieve.  She  divined 
with  exactness  the  details  of  the  ex- 
planation which  had  taken  place  be- 
tween the  husband  and  wife;  she 
realized  all  with  the  quickened  intel- 
ligence of  a  woman  who  loves.  She 
felt  that  Emmeline's  husband  was 
furious  on  account  of  the  letter,  and, 
instinctively,  she  replied,  while  plac- 
ing the  letter  upon  the  table,  in  a 
scarcely  audible  tone :  "I  thank  you." 

For  an  instant  De  Sarlieve  seemed 
to  hesitate,  as  though  belief  was  im- 
possible; finally,  in  a  voice  full  of 

132 


THE    SCREEN. 

emotion  and  sadness,  which  touched 
Mine,  de  Lautrec  deeply,  he  said: 

"Then  ain  I  to  understand  that 
you  acknowledge  that  this  letter  is 
for  you?  Oh,  Madame,  I  know  that 
I  should  not  be  here,  and  that  my 
conduct  toward  you  at  this  instant 
is  not  that  of  a  gentleman.  I  know 
that  if  this  letter  is  not  written  to 
you  under  the  name  of  another,  as 
has  been  told  me,  I  merit  disgrace 
for  bringing  it  to  you,  and  I  am  still 
at  fault  even  if  it  is  intended  for  you. 
My  excuse  is  that  I  have  been  wretch- 
edly unhappy  for  several  days.  It 
was  imperative  that  I  should  know 
if  the  writer  of  this  letter  is  in  Lon- 
don on  account  of  Mme.  de  Sarlieve 
or  yourself.  I  found  this  envelope 
on  entering  the  hotel  a  short  time 
since.  As  the  address  bore  the  name 
of  my  wife,  I  was  at  liberty  to  open 
the  letter.  I  did  not,  however,  do  so. 
You  can  divine  who  it  was  who  told 
me  that  the  letter  was  for  you,  al- 
though directed  to  herself.  If  Emme- 
line  has  spoken  the  truth,  your  secret 

133 


THE    SCREEN. 

will  die  here,  but  have  pity  on  an 
unhappy  man.  In  charity,  if  it  be 
true,  swear  to  me  that  this  letter  is 
indeed  intended  for  you." 

"I  swear!"  replied  the  young  wo- 
man, after  a  short  silence. 

Mme.  de  Lautrec  had  taken  a  false 
oath,  and  what  an  oath!  She  had 
immolated  her  own  honor  for  the 
sake  of  the  young  man  who  had  been 
so  false  to  her  and  for  the  friend  who 
had  deceived  her.  Her  lips  trembled 
and  tears  filled  her  eyes,  but  her  dis- 
tress seemed  to  De  Sarlieve  a  proof 
of  her  confusion.  Was  not  her  decla- 
ration that  Bertrand  d'Aydie's  letter 
was  intended  for  her  a  confession 
that  her  relations  with  him  were 
very  different  from  those  which  pro- 
claimed her  habitual  attitude  of  re- 
serve and  scrupulousness?  It  was 
the  revolt  of  her  proud  soul  against 
the  hypothesis  which  the  circum- 
stances led  him  to  make. 

"Even  if  the  letter  is  for  her,"  he 
had  thought,  "it  is  not  certain  that 
she  will  have  the  courage  to  acknowl- 

134 


THE    SCREEN.. 

edge  it,  and  I  shall  then  have  the 
right  to  open  it.  If  the  letter  is  not 
for  her,  it  is  certain  that  she  will 
show  how  insulted  she  is  at  such  an 
accusation.  In  any  case,  I  will  have 
a  positive  result.  I  shall  know." 

He  had  not  calculated  upon 
Alyette  being  in  love  with  D'Aydie 
in  secret,  passionately,  madly  in 
love,  and  through  this  love  being 
willing  to  sacrifice  everything  when 
it  was  a  question  of  saving  the 
man  she  loved.  When  she  had 
sworn  there  came  upon  De  Sar- 
lieve's  face  a  look  of  bewilderment, 
and  his  mental  being  was  revolu- 
tionized. 

"Ah !"  he  exclaimed,  in  perplexity 
and  joy.  The  nightmare  of  his  jeal- 
ousy was  dissipated.  He  no  longer 
realized  the  odiousness  of  his  con- 
duct, and,  with  a  gesture  which  con- 
trasted oddly  with  his  recent  lan- 
guage, he  took  the  hand  of  Alyette 
de  Lautrec,  who,  in  her  wretchedness 
did  not  restrain  him,  and  raising  it 

135 


THE    SCREEN. 

to  his  lips,  imprinted  on  it  a  most 
respectful  kiss,  saying: 

"Pardon  me,  Madame.  If  you  but 
know  what  I  have  suffered  until 
now — " 

"I  have  nothing  to  pardon."  She 
withdrew  her  hand  and  dismissed 
the  one  who  had  subjected  her  to  so 
cruel  an  inquisition  with  such  hau- 
teur that,  with  bowed  head,  De  Sar- 
lieve  left  the  room  like  a  guilty  man ; 
yet,  by  a  singular  feeling  of  contra- 
diction, while  he  pitied,  he  believed 
this  woman  a  hypocrite,  and  he  did 
not  doubt  what  she  had  told  him. 
Still  he  felt  remorse  at  his  brutality, 
and  this  remorse  redoubled  when  he 
reached  the  apartment  of  his  wife, 
and  found  that  Emmeline  was  not 
there. 

"She  has  a  horror  of  seeing  me 
again,"  he  thought,  "and,  after  what 
I  had  done,  she  is  right." 

At  this  moment  he  heard  outside 
the  voice  of  Bertrand  d'Aydie.  What 
would  this  young  man,  whom  he  had 
respected  unjustly  to  be  the  lover  of 

136 


THE    SCREEN,  s 

his  wife,  think  of  him,  Sarlieve  said 
to  himself. 

Bertrand  had  come  direct  from  his 
hotel,  at  the  door  of  which  he  had 
left  Mme.  de  Sarlieve.  When  she  in- 
quired for  him  he  had  a  presenti- 
ment of  some  catastrophe.  She  had 
given  him  a  feverish  account  of  the 
letter  having  been  intercepted  by  her 
husband,  and  her  ruse  in  order  to 
escape.  The  first  impulse  of  Ber- 
trand, in  return  for  this  confidence, 
was  indignation.  How  was  he  to  tell 
this  woman,  who  had  risked  losing 
everything  for  his  sake,  that  the 
thought  of  a  suspicion  being  cast 
upon  Alyette  filled  him  with  horror? 
And  yet  it  was  necessary  to  prevent 
the  evil  consequences  of  this  guilty 
and  gratuitous  ruse. 

"But  in  that  letter,"  he  exclaimed, 
"there  was  absolutely  nothing.  I 
did  not  even  use  a  word  of  endear- 
ment. Oh,  why  did  you  not  allow 
your  husband  to  open  the  envelope? 
He  would  have  accepted  the  contents 
as  a  proof  of  the  innocence  of  our 

137 


THE    SCREEN. 

friendship.  You  know  that  I  have 
found  him  so  odd  of  late  that  I 
should  never  have  taken  the  risk  of 
•writing  anything  which  might  cause 
.trouble." 

"I  was  mad.  I  see  it  all,"  said 
Emmeline;  "but  what  can  be  done?" 

"To  begin  with,"  answered  Ber- 
trand,  "he  must  not  be  allowed  to 
suspect  that  we  understood  each 
other,  and  to  accomplish  this  I  must 
go  at  once  and  let  him  see  me,  with- 
out you,  in  order  that  he  may  not 
imagine  the  existence  of  a  plot.  I 
have  a  pretext,  namely,  to  announce 
my  departure.  To  leave  London  is 
necessary.  To  remain  is  no  longer 
possible.  It  has  become  too  danger- 
<ous.  You  will  go  and  wait  for  me  at 
;the  antiquary's,  in  New  Bond  Street, 
at  the  corner  of  Maddox,  where  we 
met  a  few  days  ago.  In  half  an  hour 
I  will  return  to  reassure  you." 

"And  suppose  you  do  not  come?" 
she  asked.  "What  if  he  should  kill 
you?  What  if  Alyette,  to  be  reveng- 
ed, should  have  betrayed  us?" 

138 


THE    SCREENS 

"She!"  he  replied.  "It  is  impossi- 
ble! She  may  have  said  to  De  Sar- 
lieve  that  it  was  only  a  jest.  She 
may  have  opened  the  letter.  He 
would  have  seen  but  the  most  insig- 
nificant phrases.  It  will  be  for  you, 
when  you  return,  to  tell  him  that  you 
merely  desired  to  prove  to  what  ex- 
tent his  jealousy  was  capable.  You 
will  express  your  anger  and  indigna- 
tion at  his  conduct,  and  it  will  be  he 
who  will  ask  forgiveness  for  his  sus- 
picions. Mme.  de  Lautrec  denounce 
any  one!  You  take  her  for  some 
other  person!" 

They  separated  with  these  words, 
the  cruelty  of  which  the  young  man 
did  not  realize  at  the  moment.  He 
said  to  himself  in  justification,  "She 
deserves  to  be  punished  for  having 
dared  to  believe  Alyette  capable  of 
the  same  baseness  as  herself !" 

It  was  in  such  terms  that  the  lover 
spoke  of  Emineline,  yet,  for  her  sake, 
he  encountered  real  danger.  He  had 
not  told  the  entire  truth  to  this  wo- 
man, in  whom  it  was  necessary  to 

139 


THE    SCREEN. 

restore  confidence.  He  realized  that 
the  note  read  by  a  jealous  husband, 
and  after  Emmeline's  singular  false- 
hood might  appear,  in  much,  equivo- 
cal, and  there  was  no  small  display 
of  courage  in  the  assumption  of  easy 
assurance  with  which  he  met  De  Sar- 
lieve. To  his  surprise,  he  found  that 
it  was  uncalled  for.  At  the  first 
glance,  he  saw  what  to  him  seemed 
inexplicable,  that  the  man  was  em- 
barrassed in  his  presence,  a  sort  of 
embarrassment  that  disconcerted 
even  D'Aydie,  and  with  awkward- 
ness he  said : 

"Is  not  Mme.  de  Sarlieve  here?  I 
called  to  ask  if  she  has  any  commis- 
sions for  Paris." 

"You  are  going?" said  De  Sarlieve. 
"It  is  a  sudden  start,  is  it  not?" 

"Sudden?"  responded  D'Aydie. 
"Why  so?  My  stay  ought  not  to 
have  lasted  but  ten  days,  and  this  is 
the  eleventh." 

"My  wife  will  regret  not  having 
seen  you,"  replied  the  husband,  who 
added,  after  a  moment  of  silence: 

140 


THE    SCREEN.^ 

"Have  you  taken  leave  of  the  De 
Lautrecs?" 

"Not  as  yet,"  said  the  young  man, 
"but  I  am  on  my  way  there  now.  Do 
you  know  if  Mme.  de  Lautrec  is  at 
home?" 

"I  do  not  know,"  replied  Sarlieve, 
in  a  tone  which  led  Bertrand,  as  he 
descended  to  Alyette's  floor,  to  think : 
"I  was  right.  He  has  opened  the 
letter.  He  has  discovered  nothing, 
and  he  is  disconcerted  at  the  thought 
that  Mme.  de  Lautrec  will  speak  of 
his  act.  At  least,  I  wish  Alyette  to 
know  that  I  am  in  despair  over  what 
has  happened." 

It  was  not  alone  the  passionate 
idea  of  justifying  himself  which 
thrilled  his  heart  to  such  an  extent 
that  he  could  distinctly  hear  its 
throbbings  when  he  arrived  at  the 
entrance  where  the  valet  of  the  De 
Lautrecs  was  in  waiting.  For  three 
days,  during  which  he  had  known 
Alyette  to  be  cognizant  of  his  liaison 
with  Emmeline  he  had  anticipated 
with  dread  the  moment  when  he 

141 


THE    SCREEN. 

should  meet  her.  What  could  he  say 
to  her?  All  allusions,  even  the  most 
remote,  to  his  intrigue  with  Emme- 
line  were  impossible;  nevertheless  it 
was  impossible  for  him  to  be  near 
this  pure,  delicate  woman,  who  now 
was  for  him  the  only  one  in  the 
world,  and  remain  under  the  bane  of 
her  contempt.  The  time  appeared  to 
him  long  between  the  moment  when 
he  sent  to  inquire  if  Mme.  de  Lautrec 
would  receive  him  and  the  return  of 
the  servant  who  brought  the  reply : 

"Mme.  la  Marquise  regrets  that 
she  is  suffering  too  much  to  receive. 
She  sends  this  letter  to  Monsieur." 

When  Bertrand  tremblingly  open- 
ed the  envelope  he  found  it  enclosed 
another  envelope,  which  was  unopen. 
It  was  his  letter,  on  which  the  name 
of  Mme.  de  Sarlieve  was  written  with 
his  own  hand.  The  seal  was  intact. 
His  emotions  were  so  profound  that 
he  could  scarcely  go  down  the  stairs. 
His  legs  trembled  beneath  him. 

When  outside  in  Berkeley  Square 
he  raised  his  eyes  toward  the  win- 

142 


THE    SCREEN.  s 

dows  behind  which  had  transpired  a 
scene  the  nature  of  which  was  now 
revealed  in  the  document  he  held. 
Since  Guy  de  Sarlieve  had  left  his 
letter  with  Mme.  de  Lautrec  it  must 
be  because  she  had  accepted  Emme- 
line's  lie.  She  must  have  said,  "Yes, 
this  letter  is  for  me."  Thus  she,  the 
irreproachable,  the  saintly,  had  ac- 
cepted the  sacrifice  of  acknowledging 
that  she  carried  on  a  clandestine  cor- 
respondence. What  an  immolation! 
One  impossible  to  credit,  and  for 
what  reason,  and  for  whom  had  it 
been  made?  Bertrand  dared  not 
reply.  It  now  seemed  as  if,  through 
playing  the  part  she  had  for  a  month, 
that  of  screen-friend,  she  had  become 
to  a  certain  degree  an  accomplice; 
the  frightful  demand  made  by 
Emmeline  upon  the  generosity  of 
their  common  dupe  he  felt  to  be  such 
a  wrong  to  this  beautiful  soul  that 
he  could  not  permit  himself  to  say: 
"Did  she  do  this  for  me?  To  save  me 
from  the  danger  she  saw  for  me?  If 
so,  it  is  because  she  loves  me."  He 

143 


THE    SCREEtf. 

did  not  say  the  words,  but  a  sort  of 
sacred  emotion  whispered  the 
thought,  and,  at  the  same  time — oh, 
the  everlasting  egotism  in  the  heart 
of  man  when  he  is  about  to  cease  to 
love ! — a  revolt  almost  furious  seized 
him  against  the  one  who  had  ensnar- 
ed him  and  led  him  to  commit  what 
he  considered  a  crime  against 
Alyette.  She  awaited  him,  however, 
this  poor  woman  whose  fault  he 
alone  had  no  right  to  condemn.  But 
now  she  had  sought  him,  in  her  hour 
of  mortal  peril,  and  as  her  only  pro- 
tector. Nothing  in  all  this  weighed 
against  the  passionate  impulse  of 
love  which  possessed  D'Aydie  at  this 
instant  to  avenge  the  woman  he  loved 
against  the  one  he  had  loved.  For 
he  now  knew  that  he  loved  Mme.  de 
Lautrec.  He  felt  this  with  a  certain- 
ty which  interdicted  even  the  hope 
of  meeting  her  again.  This  double 
evidence  rendered  him  at  this  instant 
implacable. 

When  D'Aydie  arrived  at  the  cor- 
ner   of    New    Bond    and    Maddox 

144 


THE    SCREEN.   N 

Streets,  where  Mme.  de  Sarlieve 
awaited  him,  he  entertained  for  her 
the  most  unjust,  the  most  fierce  aver- 
sion. In  a  word,  he  hated  her  for  the 
love  he  bore  another. 

"Well?"  she  asked,  breathlessly. 

"Well,"  he  replied,  in  a  hard,  cyni- 
cal tone.  "You  can  return  to  your 
hotel.  It  is  as  I  predicted.  Your 
husband  is  ready  to  ask  pardon  for 
having  suspected  you.  He  knows 
nothing.  Mme.  de  Lautrec  has 
taken  your  infamy  upon  herself." 

"My  infamy!"  she  replied,  more 
overcome  by  the  tone  of  the  young 
man  than  by  the  news  he  brought. 
They  had  left  the  corner  and  hailed 
a  cab,  which  he  motioned  her  to 
enter,  reiterating: 

"Yes,  your  infamy.  But  we  have 
not  time  now  to  tell  ourselves  all  the 
truth.  You  must  return  to  the  hotel 
at  once." 

"How  strangely  you  speak  to  me," 
she  said,  still  more  agitated.  "When 
shall  I  see  you  again?  You  must  ex- 
plain this  to  me." 

10  145 


THE    SCREEN. 

"I  have  nothing  to  explain  to  you," 
he  said,  still  more  coldly.  "I  start 
to-night  for  Paris.  Good-bye." 

"Surely  I  am  dreaming,"  she  re- 
plied, wildly.  "Bertrand,  recollect 
yourself.  It  is  I,  your  Emmeline, 
whom  you  love!" 

Then  as  he  shook  his  head  in  token 
of  denial,  she  uttered  a  wild  cry: 
"Ah!  Is  it,  then,  true?" 

In  a  voice  full  of  feverish  passion, 
and  never  to  be  forgotten,  he  replied : 

"Yes,  it  is  true  I  love  Alyette.  I 
love  her — do  you  hear? — I  love  her; 
I  love  her,  and  I  have  never  loved 
but  her, — and  you, — once  more, 
good-bye.  After  what  has  passed,  I 
cannot  see  you  again.  I  feel  that  I 
hate  you  too  bitterly." 


146 


VII 

Is  it  die  End? 


147 


CHAPTER  VII. 
Is  it  the  End  f 

Bertrand  d'Aydie  kept  his  word. 
He  left  London  that  night  after  hav- 
ing written  Mme.  de  Lautrec  a 
letter,  which  was  returned  to  him, 
like  the  other — the  seal  unbroken. 
Some  days  later  his  friends  were  told 
that  he  had  taken  his  departure  for 
a  tour  around  the  world.  In  some  of 
the  more  recent  letters  received  from 
him,  he  announced  his  intention  of 
exploring  Africa.  In  exile  he  sought 
to  restore  his  self-respect  and  esteem, 
which  he  deemed  lost  forever,  but 
this  act  of  expiation  did  not  save 
him  from  the  criticism  of  his  friends. 

"What  a  poseur  is  D'Aydie.  You 
may  remember  that  he  once  made 
love  his  mission ;  now  he  has  turned 
explorer,"  was  said  by  one  of  the 
clubmen. 

149 


THE    SCREEN. 

"Alyette  de  Lautrec  was  his  last 
flame,"  was  the  answer.  "Poor  little 
woman !  It  is  a  pity  that  her  health 
is  not  better.  She  returned  this  year 
from  the  East  to  visit  the  Springs." 

"He  must  also  miss  Mme.  de  Sar- 
lieve,  does  he  not,  Guy?" 

"Doubtless,"  dryly  replied  Emme- 
line's  husband,  who  had  chanced  to 
mingle  with  the  group. 

There  wTas  in  this  brief  reply  a 
certain  tone  that  led  one  of  the  group 
to  say,  as  De  Sarlieve  sauntered  on : 

"What  ails  him?  Do  you  not 
think  he  has  changed  frightfully  the 
last  few  months?" 

"He  drinks,"  was  the  rejoinder. 

"With  such  a  wife  as  he  has,  so 
charming,  so  sprightly,  so  winning, 
it  is  unpardonable,"  said  Cruc£, 
shrugging  his  shoulders.  "Here  is 
another  specimen  of  the  fools  of  the 
day.  In  my  time  we  were  not  afraid 
of  being  drunk;  but,  like  true 
Frenchmen,  writh  true  wine  which 
enlivened  and  rendered  gay,  we  en- 
joyed life.  Now  the  new  mixed 

150 


THE 


drinks,  cocktails  and  other  mixtures 
which  come  from  England  and  Amer- 
ica, play  the  mischief  with  the  head 
and  make  a  fool  of  a  fellow.  I  bet 
there  is  whisky  at  the  bottom  of  this 
change  in  De  Sarlieve." 

"You  are  right,"  said  one  of  the  by- 
standers, "as  may  be  seen  any  even- 
ing at  Philippe's,  where  he  is  always 
to  be  found.  But  what  does  De  Sar- 
lieve's  wife  say  to  all  this?" 

"His  wife?"  replied  one  of  the 
young  men.  "She  goes  her  way  and 
he  goes  his.  I  often  wonder  if  she 
ever  sees  him.  Casal  is  with  her 
constantly  now." 

"He  will  have  his  labor  for  his 
pains,"  said  Cruce',  shrugging  his 
shoulders  again.  "She  is  a  friend  of 
Mme.  de  Lautrec,  which  is  a  suffi- 
cient guarantee  for  her  good  be- 
havior. Her  husband,  nevertheless, 
deserves  the  yellow  pavilion." 

Without  realizing  the  intense 
comicality  of  this  brevet  of  lofty  vir- 
tue discerned  in  Emmeline  through 
the  name  of  her  friendship  for 

151 


THE    SCREEN. 

Alyette,  the  old  Parisian  continued 
to  instruct  his  disciples  at  the  club, 
among  whom  he  had  the  reputation 
of  knowing  the  wrorld,  and  thus  the 
screen-friend  continued,  unknown  to 
all,  to  save  the  honor  of  the  one  who 
had  wronged  her. 
Life  has  its  ironies. 


152 


DROME  and 
DREAMER 


By    NELSON    LLOYD 
Author  of  "The  Chronic  Loafer" 

AN     AMERICAN      LOVE     STORT 
Illustrated,   ClotK,  8vo,   $1.5O 


"  '  A  Drone  and  A  Dreamer  '  recalls  the  maxim  of  La 
Bruyere  :  '  When  the  reading  of  a  book  elevates  the  mind  and 
inspires  noble  sentiments,  do  not  seek  for  another  rule  by  which 
to  judge  the  work.  It  is  good  and  made  by  the  hand  of  a 
workman.'  One  of  the  cleverest  and  most  fascinating  stories, 
all  too  brief,  that  it  has  ever  been  my  pleasure  to  read." 

— WALT.  McDouGALL,  in  North  American. 

"  Capitally  told.     The  whole  story  is  rich  in  humor." 

— Outlook. 

"The  most  delightfully  original  offering  of  the  year." 

— New  York  World. 

"  A  story  that  every  one  can  enjoy." — New  York  Press. 

"At  once  and  unreservedly  we  acknowledge  the  singu- 
lar merits  of  this  clever  romance." 

— New  York  Times  Saturday  Review. 

"  Occasionally  across  the  weary  wastes  of  contemporary 
fiction — erotic,  neurotic,  tommyrotic  or  would-be  historical, 
— comes  a  breath  from  some  far,  sweet  land  of  cleanness  and 
beauty.  Such  a  story  is  'A  Drone  and  A  Dreamer.'  It  is 
difficult  to  conceive  of  anything  more  charming  and  delight- 
ful than  this  book."  —  Chicago  Evening  Post. 

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LACHM1  BJII 


BY 


MICHAEL    WHITE 

Ornamental    ClotK    Cover,    $1.5O 
Fully     Illustrated 


Jl  Strong  Historical  Novel 

Dealing  with  the  Sepoy  Rebellion 

* 

A  story  founded  upon  the  struggle  of  the 
famous  Princess  of  India,  Lachmi  Bai,  to 
recover  her  possessions  from  the  English. 

The  novel  shows  her  in  the  role  of  The 
Jeanne  d  'Arc  of  India^  depicting  with  masterly 
skill  the  brains,  unceasing  energy  and  indomi- 
table courage  which  enabled  her  to  rouse  the 
native  princes  to  strike  a  blow  for  freedom. 
Her  beauty,  woman's  wit  and  earnestness  of 
purpose,  all  make  her  a  most  fascinating  hero- 
ine, both  in  romance  and  history. 

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The 

Great   White  Way 

Ornamental  Cloth  Cover,  Gilt  Top,  $1.5O 

A  RECORD  OF  AN  UNUSUAL  VOYAGE  OF  DISCOVERY,  AND  SOME 
ROMANTIC  LOVE  AFFAIRS  AMID  STRANGE  SURROUNDINGS 

The  whole  recounted  by  one  NICHOLAS  CHASE,  promoter  of 
the  expedition,  whose  reports  have  been  arranged  for 
publication  by  ALBERT  BICELOW  PAINE, 
author  of  "The  Van  Dwellers"  "The  Bread  Line," 
etc.  Drawings  by  BERNARD  J.  ROSENMEYER.  Sketches 
by  CHAUNCEY  GALE,  and  maps,  etc.,  from  MR.  CHASE'S 
note  book. 

A     Romance     of    tKe     Farthest    SoxitH 

A  THRILLING    ACCOUNT  OF  ADVENTURE 
AND  EXPLORATION  AT  THE   SOUTH    POLE 


"  THE  GREAT  WHITE  WAY  is  the  best  thing  of  the  sort 

I've  seen  since  *  Gulliver'  s  Travels.' 
"It  is  far  more  entertaining  than  any  account  of  Ant-  Arctic 

discovery  given  to  the  world  heretofore,  and  I'll  venture 

the  opinion  that  it  is  fully  as  correct  in  scientific  research. 

Moreover,  the   story  will  fetch  all  who   have  felt  the 

'  hug  of  the  bear.  ' 

Very  truly  yours, 

JOSHUA    SLOCUM, 

Mariner.'* 
ALBERT  BIGELOW  PAINE, 

Voyager. 


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NORTH 

•WEST  But  One  Verdict  EAST 

SOUTH 

THE,  Br 

CHRONIC       MUJO     LLOYD 


LO-A.FEJEV 


8vo,  ClotK,  $1.25 


OutlooK,    Ne-w    TTorK 

Ne-w  "A  new  American  humorist.      The  stories  have  the  point  and  dry 

yorlv    force  found  in  those  told  by  the  late  lamented  David  Harum." 

San    Francisco    Argonaut 
Cal.  "Will  bring  a  smile  when  it  is  read  a  second  or  third  time." 

New    Orleans    Picayune 

La.  "Racy  with  wisdom  and  humor." 

Chicago     Inter-Ocean 

,-i,  "A  book  full  of  good  laughs,  and  will  be  found  •  sure  specific  for  tfat 

i  »       tt 
blues. 

Omaha     World     Herald 
Neb.  "The  reader  will  love  him." 

North     American,     Philadelphia 

_  "Great  natural  humor  and  charm.     In  this  story  alone  Mr.  Lloyu 

*"    is  deserving  of  rank  up-front  among  the  American  humorists.  '  ' 

Portland    Transcript 

-.  "A  cheerful  companion.      The  reviewer  has  enjoyed  it  in  a  month 

**    when  books  to  be  read  have  been  many  and  the  time  precious." 

Denver    Republican 

"Nelson  Lloyd  is  to  be  hailed  as  a  Columbus.  There  isn't  a  story  in 
the  book  that  isn't  first-class  fun,  and  there's  no  reason  why  The  Chronic 
Ltaftr  should  not  be  placed  in  the  gallery  of  American  celebrities  beside  the 
popular  and  philosophical  Mr.  Dooley." 

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The 

Ordeal   of 
Elizabeth 

FRONTISPIECE   BY 

ALLAN     GILBERT 

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*   * 

The   Story   of  an    American    Elizabeth 
# 

This  vital  love  story  will  force  every  woman 
who  reads  the  book  to  form  an  opinion  of 
what  she  would  have  done  if  subjected  to  the 
same  ordeal. 

A  Vivid  Picture  of  Social  Life  in  New  York. 

A  powerful  love  story,  full  of  human  inter- 
est and  deep  sympathy. 

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"We    -were    Strangers    and    tHey    tooK    us    in." 

The  Van  Dwellers 

A    STRENUOUS     QUEST    FOR    A    HOME 


ALBERT    BIGELOW 

Author  of  "THe    Dread    Line" 

To  THOSE  WHO  HAVE  LIVED  IN  FLATS 

To  THOSE  WHO  ARE  LIVING  IN  FLATS,  AND 

To  THOSE  WHO  ARE  THINKING  OF  LIVING  IN  FLATS 

Every  one  will  enjoy  the  delicious  humor  in  this  account 
of  a.  pursuit  of  the  Ideal  Home.      The  agonizing  compli- 
cations that  arose  between  Landlord,  Janitor,  Moving 
Man  and  the  Little  Family  are  limitless. 
Only   tHe   income  of  tHe    searcHers   is  limited. 


booh,   to    appeal   to    every    one,  whether 
afflicted  witH  liKe  troubles  or  not. 


Illustrated,  ClotK,  75c. 

Very  cHeap — considering  wHat  tK« 
experience  cost. 


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THE  GIFT  BOOK  OF  THE  SEASON 

The  Book  of  Sport 

Written  by  the  following  Experts  : 

Col.  John  Jacob  Astor  H.  H.  Hunncwell,  Jr. 

Oliver  H.  P.  Belmont  Eustace  H.  Miles 

Foxhall  Keene  T.  Suffren  Tailer 

John  E.  Cowdin  Edward  La  Montagne,  Sr. 

Miss  Ruth  Underbill  Malcolm  D.  Whitman 

Miss  Beatrix  Hoyt  Holcombe  Ward 

Herbert  M.  Harriman  J.  Parmly  Paret 

Fmdlay  S.  Douglas  Ralph  N.  Ellis 

H.  L.  Herbert  Albert  C.  Bostwick 

Lawrence  M.  Stockton  Herman  B.  Duryea 

George  Richmond  Fearing,  Jr.  W.  P.  Stephens 

Irving  Cox 


"Unique  and  badly  needed." — CASPAR  WHITNEY. 

"  An  American  Badminton.  Superbly  done.  Author- 
itative."— Boston  Herald. 

i(  There  has  never  been  anything  like  this  galaxy  of  stars 
in  the  realms  of  amateur  sporting  literature." 

— New  York  Herald. 

"A  noble  book  of  sports.  Written  for  lovers  of  sport  by 
lovers  of  sport.  Only  the  best  of  the  best  has  been  given. 
This  applies  alike  to  articles,  illustrations  and  book-making. 
The  best  possible  book  on  amateur  sport." 

— Evening  Telegraph,  Philadelphia. 

For  descriptive  circulars,  sample  pages,  etc.,  address 

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LORDS  %E  NORTH 

By  A.   C.   LAUT 
A  STRONG   HISTORICAL   NOVEL 


ORDS  OF  THE  NORTH  is  a  thrilling  romance 
dealing  with  the  rivalries  and  intrigues  of  The  Ancient 
and  Honorable  Hudson's  Bay  and  the  North- West 
Companies  for  the  supremacy  of  the  fur  trade  in  the 
Great  North.  It  is  a  story  of  life  in  the  open;  of 
pioneers  and  trappers.  The  life  of  the  fur  traders  in 
Canada  is  graphically  depicted.  The  struggles  of  the  Selkirk 
settlers  and  the  intrigues  which  made  the  life  of  the  two  great 
fur  trading  companies  so  full  of  romantic  interest,  are  here 
laid  bare.  Francis  Parkman  and  other  historians  have 
written  of  the  discovery  and  colonization  of  this  part  of  our 
great  North  American  continent,  but  no  novel  has  appeared 
so  full  of  life  and  vivid  interest  as  Lords  of  the  North. 
Much  valuable  information  has  been  obtained  from  old  docu- 
ments and  the  records  of  the  rival  companies  which  wielded 
unlimited  power  over  a  vast  extent  of  our  country.  The 
style  is  admirable,  and  the  descriptions  of  an  untamed  conti- 
nent, of  vast  forest  wastes,  rivers,  lakes  and  prairies,  will 
place  this  book  among  the  foremost  historical  novels  of  the 
present  day.  The  struggles  of  the  English  for  supremacy, 
the  capturing  of  frontier  posts  and  forts,  and  the  life  of  trader 
and  trapper  are  pictured  with  a  master's  hand.  Besides 
being  vastly  interesting,  Lords  of  the  North  is  a  book  of  his- 
torical  value.  Cloth,  Soo,  $I.5O 

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THE   SCREEW 

BY 

PAUL  BOURGET 

Copiously  Illustrated. 
Ornamental  cover,  gilt  top.     $1.50 

A    Novel    of    Society    in    Paris    and    London 

A  fascinating  love  story.  The  character  studies  contained 
in  this  society  novel  of  to-day  are  in  Bourget's  most  finished 
style.  His  power  of  analysis  and  ability  to  depict  character 
are  marvelous,  and  nowhere  are  they  better  illustrated  than 
in  The  Screen. 


STEPPING 


BY 

ELIZABETH  PRENTISS 

New  Illustrated  Edition. 
Ornamental  cloth  cover,  green  and  silver.     $1.50 

A  special  holiday  edition  of  Mrs.  Prentiss'  famous  story, 
bound  uniformly  with  Amelia  E.  Barr's  "Trinity  Bells." 
Boxed  in  artistic  form.  The  two  books,  making  a  charming 
gift,  $3.00  per  set.  Sold  separately  at  $1.50  a  copy. 

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Canadian   Folk-Life   and 
FolK-Lore 

"WILLIAM    PARKER    GREENOUGH 

Numerous  Illustrations.  Cro-wn  &-vo..  ClotH, 

TORONTO  WORLD 

"We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  this  book  is  a  distinct  contrib- 
ution to  the  literature  of  Canada.  '  * 

QUEBEC    DAILY    TELEGRAPH 

"There  is  not  a  dull  page  in  the  whole  book." 


A.    ComisK    Romance. 
By  J.  H.  PEARCE 

New  illustrated  edition.  ClotK,  6-vo..  $1.25 

BUFFALO    EXPRESS 

"A  powerful  tale.  This  book  should  go  beside  Hall  Caint's  trage- 
dies of  fisherfolk.  '  ' 

TIMES.UNIOIf 

"Deserves  to  be  read  by  all  Americans  as  well  as  the  English-speaking 
people  in  the  four  corners  of  the  earth." 

TVl«=»      Pot^ntat^  By  FRANCES 

J.  ne    j:  oieriidue     FORBES-ROBERTSON 

Neto  illustrated  edition.  Cloth,  8vo.,  $1.23 

DEMVER    REPUBLIC  AM 

"A  picture  of  knighthood  as  rare  as  a  scene  on  an  ancient  bit  of  tap- 
estry." 

THE    ACADEMY 

"A  steel-bright  romance  of  the  middle  ages  —  flashing  blades,  passages 
of  love  and  adventure,  and  all  the  paraphernalia  of  romance  marshaled  by  a 
skilful  hand." 

A.  Hand-Book,  of  Wrestling 

By  HUGH  F.  LEONARD 

Instructor  in  Wrestling  at  the  New  York  Athletic  Club. 
Crown  Svo.,  ClotK,  22O  illustrations,  $2»   Edition  de  Luxe,  $3 
"I  wish  the  work  the  success  which  it  merits." 

—  D.  A.  SARGENT,  Medical  Director,  Harvard  Universitv 

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The   Colburn   Prize 

By  GABRIELLE  E.  JACRSON 

ILLUSTRATED  BY  MABEL  HUMPHREY 
Ornamental    Cloth    Cover,    $1.OO 

*       *       * 

Mrs.  Jackson  needs  no  introduction.  Her  stories  in 
the  St.  Nicholas  magazine  have  won  for  her  a  warm  place 
in  the  hearts  of  the  girls  throughout  the  country.  The 
Colburn  Prize  is  a  charming  story  of  mutual  sacrifice  by  two 
school  friends,  and  is  the  last  and  best  work  of  the  gifted 
author  of  Denise  and  Ned  Toddles  and  Pretty  Polly  Perkins. 
Nine  full-page  illustrations  add  to  the  charm  of  this  ex- 
quisite gift  book  which  Mrs.  Jackson  has  dedicated  to  THE 
SCHOOL  GIRLS  THROUGHOUT  THE  LAND. 


THE  BILLY  STORIES 

By  EVA   UOVETT 

Ornamental  ClotH  Cover,    $1.OO 

Charmingly  Illustrated  with  Half -Tones  and  Line  Cuts 
*      *      * 

Billy  in  the  role  of  Pirate,  Author,  Rough  Rider,  etc., 
will  be  keenly  enjoyed  by  every  boy  and  girl,  and  also  by 
the  older  people  who  read  this  book. 

.A.  Humorous  and  most  amusing  set  of  stories 
told  from  tKe  boy's  point  of  view 

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5  4*    7    EAST   SIXTEENTH    ST.,    NEW  YORK 


CHARLES    RINGSLEY 


Illustrated  with  42  photogravure  plates  printed  on  Japa- 
nese paper,  from  paintings  by  Zeigler,  and  from  portraits  by 
Reich  and  others,  photographs,  etc.  Introductions  by  Mau- 
rice Kingsley.  Printed  from  new,  large  type,  on  choice 
laid  paper. 

* 

14  volumes,  8vo,  cloth,  gilt  top,  $2O.OO. 
One  'Half   crushed  morocco,  gilt  top,  $45.  OO. 


Supplied  separately  in  clpth,  as  follows: 

HEREWARD   THE   WAKE  a  Vols.  $3  oo 

ALTON    LOCKE           .....  *     "  3.00 

WESTWARD    HO!       .....  a     «  3.00 

YEAST          .......  i"  1.50 

TWO   YEARS   AGO              ....  a     «  3.00 

HYPATIA             ......  »     «  3.00 

POEMS          .......  i"  1.50 

LETTERS   AND   MEMORIES       ...  a     «  3.00 

This  is  the  only  illustrated  edition  of  this  author's 
works  ever  issued.  The  introductions  by  Charles  Kingslcy*8 
son  are  particularly  interesting  and  timely. 

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TRINITY  BELLS 

By    AMELIA    E.     BARR 

Cloth,    8vo,    ft. SO 
Sixteen  fxill-piiji'e  Illustrations  by  Kelyea 


"One      of     tHe      best      stories     ever     written     by 
Amelia   E..    Barr." 

ST.    LOUIS    GLOBE   DEMOCRAT. 

CHRISTIAN   NATION, 

"Without  question  the  best  book  for  young  girls  which  has  appeared 
for  years.  Besides  being  interesting  it  has  an  educational  value,  as  it  is  good 
supplementary  reading  to  a  school  course  in  history.  Mrs.  Barr  is  at  her 
best  in  Trinity  Stilt.  We  trust  that  every  library  will  soon  have  a  copy  on 
its  shelves." 

LITERARY  WORLD.    Boston. 

"In  idea  and  execution  this  is  one  of  the  author's  best  works,  and 
well  worthy  of  its  superb  dress  of  silver  and  green. ' ' 

THE  BOOK-BUYER, 

"The  name  is  happily  chosen  for  this  romantic  story  of  life  in  New 
York  during  the  period  preceding  the  war  with  the  Mediterranean  corsairs, 
for  the  bells  of  Old  Trinity  ring  out  an  accompaniment  to  the  changing  for- 
tunes of  the  lovable  little  Dutch  heroine.  There  is  a  charm  in  Mrs.  Barr's 
work  that  goes  directly  to  the  reader's  heart,  while  her  skill  in  the  delinea- 
tion of  character  is  no  less  effective  in  its  appeal  to  the  mind.  Trinity  Bells 
is  an  excellent  minor  historical  romance,  worthy  of  a  permanent  place  in  a 
young  girl's  library." 

BOSTON  TIMES, 

"No  more  agreeable  story  of  life  in  the  early  days  of  our  country  hat 
ever  been  written.  Trinity  Bdh  shows  Mrs.  Barr's  charm  and  power  in 
all  its  force  and  beauty.  Besides  its  historical  value,  it  is  vastly  entertaining." 

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WHITE    BUTTERFLIES 

By    RATE    UPSON    CL.ARR 


ClotK.  6vo. 


MARY  E. 

"The  stories  are  marvellous.  I  fee!  at  though  1  -were  constantly  find- 
ing another  -vein  of  gold.  The  dramatic  power  in  some  of  them  has  never 
been  excelled  in  any  American  short  stories.  'Solly*  is  a  masterpiece." 

ANSON    JUDD     UPSON.     D.D..     L.L.D.. 

Chancellor  of  THe  Univ.    of  New  TTorK 

"Your  stories  are  just  what  I  like.  Your  characters  are  exceedingly 
vivid.  I  cannot  too  warmly  commend  the  simplicity  and  purity  of  your 
ityle,  the  vividness  of  your  characters  and  the  general  construction  of  the 
itories." 

MARGARET  E.  SANCSTER 

•  "It  seems  to  me  that  no  stories,  long  or  short,  have  appeared,  which 
illustrate  more  perfectly  than  these  what  we  have  in  mind  when  we  use,  in 
a  literary  sense,  the  term  'Americanism.  '  The  atmosphere  of  these  beau- 
tiful tales  is  truthfully  varied  to  suit  every  locality  described,  but  everywhere 
the  standards  and  ideals  are  set  alike.  A  sound,  healthful  Americanism, 
just  what  we  wish  the  word  to  mean,  pervades  them  all." 

St.    Loviits   Globe-Democrat 

"It  is  not  art  ;  it  is  genius." 

THe  Nation 

"It  is  unusual  to  find  so  wide  a  range  of  scene  and  person  in  one  col- 
lection of  short  stories.  In  each  of  these  a  strongly  dramatic  incident  is  in- 
troduced, ringing  both  true  and  real." 

Mail  and  Express 

"Many  a  nugget  of  wisdom,  many  a  bit  of  homely  philosophy,  and 
enough  humor  to  leaven  the  whole.  '  ' 

"Western    Club   "Woman 

"Full  of  exquisite  pathos,  a  tenderness,  a  delicacy  of  touch  not  often 
equalled.  The  art  is  perfect." 

CKicago   Evening  Post 

"Mrs.  Clark  is  entitled  to  the  thanks  of  a  reading  public." 


J.     F.     TAYLOR     (8L     COMPANY 

5*7  EAST   SIXTEENTH    ST^  NEW  YORK 


Two  SIDES 

OF  A  QUESTION 

Life  from  a  Woman's  Point  of  View 


BY 

MAT    SINCLAIR 

ClotH  $1.5O 


"A  masterpiece.      The  vigor  of  the  work  and  the  knowl- 
edge of  human  interest  it  displays  are  altogether  exceptional. 

—  The  Bookman. 

"The   characters  are  irresistible.      The   book  should  be 
read." — St.  James  Gazette. 

"This  book  belongs  to  a  high  order  of  imaginative  fiction, 
based  on  the  essential  realities  of  life." — Athenaeum. 

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5   &    7   EAST  SIXTEENTH   ST.,    NEW   YORK 


PARLOUS  TIMES 

DAVID  DWIGHT  WELLS 
A      Novel      of      Modern      Diplomacy 

BY   THE   AUTHOR   OF 

"Her  Ladyship's  Elephant." 


Parlous  Times  is  a  society  novel  of  to-day. 
The  scene  is  laid  in  London  in  diplomatic 
circles.  The  romance  was  suggested  by  experi- 
ences of  the  author  while  Second  Secretary  of 
the  United  States  Embassy  at  the  Court  of  St. 
James.  It  is  a  charming  love  story,  with  a 
theme  both  fresh  and  attractive.  The  plot  is 
strong,  and  the  action  of  the  book  goes  with  a 
rush.  Political  conspiracy  and  the  secrets  of 
an  old  tower  of  a  castle  in  Sussex  play  an  im- 
portant part  in  the  novel.  The  story  is  a 
bright  comedy,  full  of  humor,  flashes  of  keen 
wit  and  clever  epigram.  It  will  hold  the 
reader's  attention  from  beginning  to  end. 
Altogether  it  is  a  good  story  exceedingly  well 
told,  and  promises  to  be  Mr.  Wells'  most  suc- 
cessful novel. 

Cloth,  8vo,  $1.SO 

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